


Robotech: Sidesteps

by Doofus87



Category: Robotech, Robotech The Macross Saga
Genre: Drama, Gen, Military, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doofus87/pseuds/Doofus87
Summary: Jeremy Daniels has found himself pulled into a reality wholly unfamiliar to him. He must learn how to survive and contend with his surroundings amid the trials of the First Robotech war and help to protect the civilians and crew of the SDF-1, all the while being prohibited from facing the demons of his past.





	1. Forcible Summons

**Author's Note:**

> Robotech and all related characters are property of Harmony Gold productions.  
> Any original characters are either my own creations, or used with permission by the creators.  
> Thanks to Grover, Xeros, Foamrule, Quinn, and others who assisted with error checking and general editing for this writing.  
> Dedicated to the memory of Dreadnought. You were a good friend, a good man, and taken from us too soon. See you again on the other side.

**Chapter 1: Forcible Summons**

Jeremy Daniels stalks through his home, his irritation clear in the sound his boots made on the old wooden floors. Though Jeremy was now the only inhabitant of his family home, he spoke his frustration aloud as while going through the motions of packing for a trip.

"Dadgum, blasted, air-headed buffoons," Jeremy gripes as he grabbed the first two pairs of trousers he could reach and roughly shoved them into his rucksack, "First they tell me that I'm not qualified for the position because, 'You don't have the requisite experience in the field.' Then they add insult to injury with, 'You should have done an unpaid internship.' Yeah, like my tuition and bills were just gonna be magically taken care of. And of course my time in the Corps doesn't count. Not like the Logistics and infantry MOSes both have accounting and auditing aspects to 'em. Feh." continuing with his complaint while depositing some shirts, socks, and skivvies into his ruck before loading up on toiletries, "And if not that then, 'We're sorry, you are overqualified for this position.' Damned if I do, damned if I don't I reckon."

"Well, a few days of some riding up in the mountains ought to make me feel less ornery," Jeremy thinks to himself before mentally adding with a laugh, "And it's gonna be a bit more productive than chasing after jobs with over inflated requirements." his laughter stops abruptly as his hand reaches for a simple oak box, pausing to uncertainly tap the lid with his fingers. After a few moments he lifts it up and places it into his bag with far greater care than he'd shown with the rest of his belongings. He murmurs to himself, "A promise is a promise."

Jeremy slings the rucksack over his shoulder before he reaches up for one last item. Taking a hold of the grip, he pulls down his fathers old 1911 pistol. Shaking his head Jeremy corrects himself mentally, "No, it's mine now, not dads." Taking the firearm, Jeremy drops and checks that the magazine is loaded before seating it back in place. Sharply pulling the slide back, Jeremy looks to ensure that the magazine was in place before releasing the slide so it slams back into battery with a fresh round in place. After a quick flick of his thumb to place the safety lever back on, and Jeremy slides the sidearm into it's resting place at his side in a holster underneath his jacket. With one more check to make sure he had his wallet and keys, JD locks the front door. With a deep breath he says out loud, "Well, enough dicking around. Might as well get rolling." before heading out the back.

Pulling the back door closed sharply with Jeremy locks it as well, as he tries to will himself to relax. As he strides off the deck over to a small shade tree that his motorcycle rested under, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. Tugging his leather jacket close over his t-shirt against the brisk February morning. Jeremy plucks his helmet off of the sissy bar and dons it. Checking yet again that his rucksack is secure over his shoulders. Clicking his boot heels together in his silly little pre-ride dance, Jeremy throws his leg over the Harley-Davison sportster, another inheritance from his late father. Settling onto the small seat, Jeremy prepares to start the bike.

Suddenly Jeremy feels the air charge with static, the hairs on his neck and arms all bristling in response. Jeremy thinks to himself, "What the devil? There ain't a cloud in the sky, no way there's a thunder head rolling in..." the thought is cut off as the world turns psychedelic colors. And Jeremy feels as if his body is being shredded from the inside out, his last thought before falling unconscious is to scream at the top of his lungs as reality seems to have turned inside out.

* * *

As Jeremy came to his head throbbed fiercely, "What the devil was that?" he thought. As he regained his senses he felt every part of his body both feeling aflame and numb like he'd just got hit by a taser. After several long seconds Daniels' brain started to pay attention to what his ears were passing along and he stiffened as several different voices flowed in.

"Ugh, can we not do that again?" Said one woman's voice

"Captain Gloval, there's someone over here." Came another.

"I wonder who he is." came a third, this one sounding more naive and innocent.

Then a rougher, deep bass tone, "That's what I want to know Lt. Porter. Claudia, Lisa, you have any idea?"

A pair of women, Jeremy assumed the ones the Captain had addressed, responded with a negatory.

Jeremy groans again as he tried to push himself into a fully seated position, the slump he was in playing havoc on his neck, "Uh, what's going on? Where am I?" he says. His jacket falling open from his motion.

As Jeremy opened his eyes, he sees what happened next as if in slow motion. A uniformed woman, elfin and dark haired, nearly jumped from her seat while barking out, "He's got a gun!"

Claudia reacted first, snatching a sidearm from her thigh holster and leveling it at Jeremy, who threw his hands up and pleaded, "Non-hostile, non-hostile. I am not a threat." The muzzle of the pistol, though Jeremy knew logically that it had to be 9mm or smaller, seemed to rival that of a tank cannon. Placatively, the small man offers, "Hey, look, I'll gladly disarm if that means not getting shot."

The female officer looks to Gloval, who nods in assent. Jeremy with an exaggerated slowness reached and carefully and drew his 1911 with just his thumb and index finger. Careful to keep the muzzle pointed to the deck, he released the magazine, pulling it free before laying the magazine on the deck. After that Jeremy racked the slide and locked it open. The .45 ACP round danced across the floor before Jeremy placed the sidearm on the deck as well and used the heel of his boot to slide the pistol and magazine over towards the Captain while keeping his hands to the 'surrender' pose he was assuming. "See? everything's all nice and ducky. Right?"

Kim quickly collected the firearm which allowed Jeremy to let out a quiet sigh as Claudia lowered the pistol she was aiming at his chest. Captain Gloval spoke in his thick Russian accent, "So, mister stowaway. Would you mind showing us your face?"

Jeremy thought for a moment about making a funny comment, but as tense as things were, he opted for modicum of restraint. "Of course, Cap'n... uh, Gloval. Right?" he said slowly pulling the helmet off to reveal his scruffy beard and short crop of black hair. Trying to offer a disarming grin the the small man said "The name's Daniels. Jeremy Samuel Daniels, uh, at yer service I reckon."

"What is your ID code Mister Daniels?"

Jeremy screwed up his face in confusion, "My what now?"

The captain sighed, "Your personal identification code. I would like to confirm that you are who you claim to be."

Jeremy shrugged, "Uh, I don't rightly got one sir."

Sammy scoffed, incredulous, "You don't have one? That's impossible."

Gloval shot over a quieting glance, "Mister Daniels, I find that hard to believe. Surely you have some means of allowing us to confirm your identity in our systems. Otherwise, I am afraid that we will have to presume that you are a AUL saboteur."

"Whoa, whoa. Captain, I ain't no saboteur, 'specially not one aligned with whomever the AUL is. I promise you that on my honor as a Marine."

Gloval cocked his head to one side, "Marine?" Jeremy nodded in the affirmative which prompted Gloval to continue, "Well, what's your serial number?"

Jeremy made a quiet, "Huh" before rattling off his serial number from memory. Gloval nodded at Lisa who entered the provided number into her terminal and waited for the record search to bear fruit. When the computer finally displays the record associated with Daniels' serial number, Commander Hayes blanches, "Captain, that ID number does belong to a Daniels, Jeremy Samuel."

Gloval harrumphs, "So, this stowaway is who he claims to be."

Lisa takes a sharp breath before continuing, "But sir, according to our records. Jeremy Samuel Daniels is dead. And has been for nearly 3 years."

* * *

Silence weighed heavily over the bridge from Lisa's statement. As Jeremy's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the impossibility of the situation he found himself in.

Gloval scowled at the small man, "Enough with the funny business, who are you really?"

Jeremy held his hand out to the side, concern clearly etched on his face, "Whoa, Captain, hold on a minute. I ain't doing no sorta funny business here. I am Jeremy S. Daniels, son of Lucas and Valarie Daniels, brother of Michael Daniels and Caroline Avery. Born, raised, and living in South Carolina. And I am not any happier to hear that I am listed as deceased, than you are to have found me as an unwitting stowaway on your vessel."

Gloval narrowed his eyes at Jeremy, who, to his credit, was holding up under the withering glare. After several long seconds, Gloval looked over to Lisa with the implied question. Commander Hayes nodded, "That all matches what we have on file sir. There are several photos as well."

Gloval nods before ordering Jeremy, "Stand up." Jeremy offers a short nod before pulling his arms free from his rucksack. Grasping the edge of a console, the small man levers himself up so he can get his feet under him. Taking a moment to be sure he is steady, Jeremy turns to face Commander Hayes for her appraisal.

"Hmm, right height, hair color matches, as does the eyes. Looks a bit heavier than the listed weight." Jeremy bites back a snide retort at that comment as Lisa continued, "And the pictures looks to be close enough, even if the alleged Mr. Daniels looks far scruffier than what we have on file."

Jeremy grumbles quietly, "'Scruffy looking' she says, oi. Can't catch a break." Eliciting a snicker from Kim and Vanessa, and another stern look from Gloval. Jeremy's brain finally catches up to reality and he gapes, looking out of the conning tower, "Dear heavens... We're in space."

Gloval softens his glare slightly, "Yes, we are. Vanessa, get some security personnel sent up here to escort out guest to the brig while we sort things out."

Vanessa nods and offers a curt "Aye aye." as she makes the call. Sammy speaks up, "But sir, the brig hasn't been built yet."

Jeremy chuckles and remarks, "Heh, all you need for a brig is a door that locks from the outside, and a guard to post beside it."

Gloval's glare hardens again, "Very astute Mr. Daniels, that is exactly what is going to happen. I'd appreciate it if you cooperated with us." Jeremy nods and reflexively says "Aye aye Cap'n."

Suddenly, the ship is rocked by an explosion Lisa calls out, "Sir, there are still aliens in the city." Jeremy's eyes bug out even as the bridge crew returns to action, guiding the veritechs and destroids in defense of the vessel. Edging back into the corner where he awoke, Jeremy roughly drops onto his haunches and sits down tucking his hands under his thighs. Gloval nods appreciatively before focusing on the crisis at hand.

* * *

Jeremy leaned back, the cool metal bulkhead sucking the heat through the thin insulation of his t-shirt. Looking around the room for the umpteenth time, he idly counted the shelves of the supply closet appropriated to act as his interim holding cell. Sighing, Jeremy attempted to adjust his zip-cuffed hands behind him into a more comfortable position. "Oh well, can't complain too much. Better than takin' a space walk I reckon. And still bigger than my berth on that LCS."

"Good to hear that you're finding out accommodations to your liking." Jeremy jumps at the unexpected address as Gloval walks into the room. Offering a wry grin Jeremy says, "What can I say Cap'n, I was infantry. Some o' the places I had to rack out in were little more'n a rat hole. So, since you're here, I'm guessing that the little green men have been run off, and either you wanna ask me some questions. Or you're about to toss me overboard. If it helps any, I am quite partial to having a nice chat, sir."

Gloval allows himself a brief throaty laugh, "Mister Daniels, I see that you have the traditional Marine bravado act mastered. If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't even worried."

Jeremy just shrugs, "Well sir, to be honest, if our positions were reversed I dunno that I'd have been near as gracious as you're being. You've not done anything unreasonable given the circumstances. And bitching at you isn't liable to help my case."

Gloval just shakes his head, "Bozhe moi. Mister Daniels, we seem to be in a conundrum regarding you. All the documentation you had on you, and the material you were carrying all points to you being who you claim to be."

Daniels offers, "Who is listed as being dead."

Gloval nods, "Exactly. And given our present location out near Pluto's orbit verifying who you are with your family is not an option. We dont' even have contact with the UEG."

Jeremy snorts, "You'll find that checking anything with my family is gonna be an exercise in futility. Only one alive is my sister, and if I was dead, I bet she'd not even have noticed."

Gloval picks up Jeremy's wallet from a table that had all of the smaller man's carried possessions laid out on it. Opening the wallet Gloval pulls out a card,"You said that your parents were Lucas and Gayle Daniels, da? They're listed as alive, living at the address on this permit of yours. Your siblings are also alive, and living in the same general area as your parents."

Leaning forward intently, eyes wide, Jeremy asks, "You're not messing with me here? They're really alive?"

"As far as we know, your family is alive, Mr. Daniels. You really thought them dead?"

Jeremy forces his way up awkwardly, shimmying his back along the wall until he could stand, "First off, you can call me Jeremy, or JD. Never liked going by mister anyway. Second, yeah I thought them dead. At least my brother and parents. Seeing as I not only attended their funerals, but I had to ID my brother or what was left of him." Daniels begins to tear up, "Look Cap'n, please, you gotta let me talk with my family. I'm begging you here."

Gloval sighs and shakes his head, "I can't do that I'm afraid."

"What?! Look I ain't asking you to trust me, or to buy my story. But, I've not talked with my brother in over 5 years. My parents in nearly a decade. Surely you..."

Jeremy is cut off by Gloval snapping, "It is not a case of my choosing not to allow it. This ship is cut off from Earth. Even if we were to send a transmission, there is no guarantee that it would be received. And worse yet, we have cause to believe that the aliens who attacked us are still out there, and likely to be trying to find us."

Jeremy, feeling thoroughly chastised, slumped back against the wall, "And thus any broadcast would also light us up if they are looking for us. My apologies sir. It'll not happen again."

Gloval, for his part, offered Jeremy a small smile, "It's understandable. Still I need you to come with me, I've explained your claims and situation to my chief engineer, Dr. Lang. He is keen on talking with you."

Jeremy pushed himself off the wall again, "Sure thing Cap'n, a nice bit of conversation will be a great way to cap off this day of mine, don't ya think?" falling in step behind the Russian man, as the Marine guards take up flanking positions to Jeremy.


	2. Unfolding Discoveries

 

 

Jeremy struggled to make himself comfortable in the folding chair he sat in, across a table from Dr. Emil Lang, the chief engineer of the SDF-1. A task made all the more difficult by both his hands still being bound behind him, and the unnerving gaze of the doctors solid black eyes. Still Jeremy forced himself to not squirm under the scrutiny as eh says in a light tone, "So, what's up doc?"

 

 

Lang turned to Gloval and asked "So captain, this is the subject you informed me of?" Lang's accented English cluing Jeremy in to the mans German heritage.

Gloval nodded, "Yes, I wish to know why he is here, and if possible, how we can help Mr. Daniels to where he belongs."

Lang cleared his throat, "Of course, I presume that he is related to those other samples you had sent up?"

Jeremy's face screwed up in confusion, "Other samples? What, I ain't the only thing that cropped up out of the aether?

Lang gave Gloval a questioning look, and waited for a nod before replying to Jeremy, "Merely some soil and plant samples from a parcel of land that was found _inside_ of the ships hold. I understand that the MPs will be sweeping the structures that were on the said land mass shortly."

Jeremy cocked his head to the side, "Parcel of land, structures?"

"Ja, approximately an acre by surface area. 2 buildings, 2 vehicles, Several trees, and a number of shrubberies."

Jeremy chuckles momentarily, "Stop me if I'm wrong here, but it's an old, beat up ford truck and a Harley motorcycle, a big-ass magnolia, a 40 foot tall oak, and 3 pecan trees, a two-story brickwork house and freestanding vinyl sided shed?"

Gloval responded this time, "Very astute, so our supposition that it is related to you is correct."

Jeremy sighs, "Well, that'll make my procuring a change of clothes that much simpler. Though a request if I may sir?" Gloval nods in assent, "Well, please ask the MPs to not make too much of a mess or to break anything. Y'all have all of my keys to get inside, and to unlock all of my safes save for one that requires a code, and that I'll gladly open for y'all while under supervision."

Gloval muses for a moment, "I'll consider your request." Jeremy sighs, but nods his head in acknowledgment.

Lang speaks up, "Well, Mister Daniels, if you'll come this way. We have many tests I wish to run."

Standing Jeremy follows along as he quips, "Will I at least get a lollipop outta this deal?"

* * *

The smell of dust and cordite rose to meet Jeremy's nostrils, handset pressed to his ear, he growled into the receiver, "I say again, this is Sigma Six-One. We are pinned down by a company sized enemy force, suspect that heavy weapons are being moved to employ against our location. We request armor and air support soonest. Over. " before tossing the handset back into the HMMWV, at the radioman who continued to broadcast the distress call.

Another Marine moved up beside Daniels, who had already made to direct his platoon to repel the latest push by the insurgents, and said in a low tone, "Those burnt bridges are coming back to bite you pretty hard sir."

Daniels huffed as he replied, "Peters, I didn't burn nothing. I nuked the damned things from orbit. Gotta be sure ya know." even as the short man scanned his eyes along the shallow gully he'd directed his Marines to fortify after they'd been forced into it from the ambush that Daniels was using increasingly desperate measures to try to escape. His Marines were clearly running out of time as injuries added up even as ammunition dwindled. Jeremy grumbled, "Milk run my left nut."

Jeremy chewed his lip for a moment before issuing more orders, "OK, Peters, once we make it through this next push, I need the dozen healthiest men we got, I'm gonna pick a good spot, close in, punch through and see if we can't make a hole to squeeze out sorry asses out of here."

"You sure that's a good idea? We could still reach Battalion HQ and get them to send out a QRF."

Jeremy glanced over to the radioman still calling over the radio, who gave the green Lt. a brief shake of his head, "I'm sure it ain't but seems we're not gonna get help any time soon. And I don't feel like havin any more people die out here."

Peters sighed as he nodded, and with a quick "Aye aye" the Staff Sergeant moved back to the far end of the defensive position, and Jeremy settled into place to held repulse the incoming assault.

Over the next half hour, the Marine platoon fought hard, turning back push after push waiting and praying that the opening they'd need would show itself in time to allow them to withdraw from the killbox they found themselves in.

Hope finally arrived as the radioman frantically waved Jeremy down, crawling over Daniels pulled himself up beside the truck, "What is it Flint?"

"I just got off the horn with the Lt. Col. He said that alpha company of 1/6 is already en route to give us support. ETA is 10 to 15."

Daniels allowed himself a quick laugh, "That's some dang good news there. Tell 'em that we have received and ackno-... What the devil is that?" Daniels interrupts himself to look around as a sharp whistle raised itself over the din of battle, followed by a dull "Whump" as the first deadly shell slammed down nearby. Biting back a curse Jeremy screamed, "MORTARS! Get small! Get s-" his warning cut off as a successive mortar landed nearby, the explosion tearing through Daniels' battle rattle and hurling the man sharply into the side of the vehicle.

* * *

Jeremy bolted upright, panting heavily, as he scrambled against the wall his cot rested against. His hind brain insisting that he was in mortal danger, and easily drowning out the more rational parts which were trying to convince his instincts that what he was being sent into a fit over was, in fact, a dream.

Jeremy's sudden re-positioning sent the cot, and himself, clattering to the deck. The door to the closet unlocked as one of the Marines standing post outside opened it to see what the commotion was about. She was greeted with an almost comical sight of Jeremy's legs tangled with those of the rickety cot. All the while, he futilely pulled at the sheet wrapped around his arms and otherwise bare torso. Only the look of pure terror on his face kept the scene from being mistaken for a Three Stooges skit. Keeping her distance the woman spoke loudly, "Mr. Daniels. Mr. Daniels. Are you alright?"

Hearing his named called snapped Jeremy out of his nightmare-fueled panic, and allowed him to regain some measure of lucidity. "Uh, y-yeah. I'm fine." he stammered out in a bald-faced lie. His face already reddening at his state of dress, silently thankful that he'd kept his jeans on at the least. Busying himself with extricating himself from his near bondage predicament he asked, "Sorry about the scare ma'am, I just, ah, lost my balance. What time is it?"

"No need to 'ma'am' me. If we're going to be formal, I'm Sergeant Quail. Otherwise, just call me Janet. And it's about 0330 hours." Quail replied, her face clearly indicating that she didn't buy his excuse.

"Ugh, great. Well, charmed ta meetcha Sergeant. And no need to call me 'mister' neither. Jeremy or JD'll both be fine in my book."

Janet offered a compassionate smile, "Jeremy it is. You sure you're OK there?"

Jeremy started to dismiss the concern, but hesitated, "Nah, I ain't. Bad dream. Bad memories 'n all of that. I'll manage though." he offered having untangled himself and righted the cot back against the wall. "Uh Janet, since it seems I ain't gonna get more sleep anytime soon, I don't s'pose you could do me a solid of gettin some coffee. Please?"

"I'll see what I can do. Sit tight."

Jeremy nodded and plopped back onto the cot as Quail stepped outside before closing and locking the door. Less than a quarter hour later, Quail opened the door and walked in holding a steaming mug of coffee and a handful of sugar and creamer packets. Jeremy still sat on the cot, the thin sheet now carefully wrapped around his shoulders to offer him some modesty. "Ah, Much obliged ma'am. Ach, sorry, Sergeant."

Janet chuckled and offered the mug, "You sound like a guy I knew from Alabama. Anyway, didn't know how you took you coffee, so I just grabbed what there was in the mess."

Jeremy took it with a appreciative nod, "Black is fine, and 'Bama is kinda close. But not quite on the mark for me."

Quail took a few steps back, "So, you want to talk?"

Jeremy shook his head before taking a sip of the brew, "Not really. No. Suffice to say, I was remembering the end of a severely trying fortnight."

The next few minutes passed in silence, only broken by Jeremy sipping at his drink. Finally he spoke up, "If you don't mind my sayin so, you're bein awfully nice given that I'm kinda being held here as a prisoner. Not that I'm complaining."

"Well, it helps that Joachim and Franks said you were nothing but cooperative when they brought you back from Dr. Lang's lab. And the scuttlebutt that is floating around is that you were found on the bridge by the command crew. But you didn't try anything between getting on board and getting to the bridge."

Jeremy cocked his head to the side, "There's already scuttlebutt goin on around me? Heh, what am I saying? Of course there is, Lance Corporals always know everything don't they?"

Quail laughed, "Oh? What do you know about that?"

Jeremy pulled the sheet up over his left shoulder to display a tattoo of the USMC emblem, "Semper Fi, Sergeant. Semper Fi. I didn't get this just because it looked cool."

"I suppose so. Are you also some sort of special force that went rogue?"

"Nah, just plain old infantry myself. And didn't go rogue, just exited service."

"So, these bad memories are from your time in?"

Jeremy nodded, "Yeah, and nothing personal Miss Quail, but I really don't feel like talkin about it."

Janet was about to ask another question when the door flew open and a tall, lanky man rushed through, the silver eagle on his collar marking his rank clearly. He narrowed his eyes at Quail, "Sergeant, what are you doing in here?"

Janet popped to attention and snapped off a salute, "Checking up on the status of the detainee, Colonel Maistroff. I presume that Major Armstrong knows you're here."

Maistroff snapped back "That is above your paygrade Sergeant. Now back to your post." as he quickly returned the salute.

Quail nodded and moved for the door. Jeremy called over, "Thanks again for the compassion Sergeant, maybe once I get cleared as not a bad guy, we can talk without a brass hole interrupting us." Quail offered a barely perceptible nod before stepping outside.

Maistroff glowered and loomed over Jeremy, "Coffee? I'll have to have a talk with Armstrong over how his people are treating prisoners."

Jeremy took a moment to look over the man trying to cow him, careful to keep his face as impassive as possible, "Oh really? Last I checked having Marines treat _detainees_ with basic human dignity was not a bad thing. Now, can I help ya?"

Maistroff scowled again, "I was wanting to see if it was indeed you. Gloval should have thrown you out the airlock as soon as you were found on the bridge."

Jeremy couldn't help but to reply sardonically, "Yep. It's me all right. I'm as me as I am gonna get. Should I know who you are, and what reason you'd have to want to make sure I am who I say I am?"

Maistroff huffed, "That's none of your concern."

Jeremy returned the scowl with one of his own, "None of my concern? You're saying I should be thrown out into _space_ just because I, what? Dared to be me? And it's not my concern for why you, having never met me, would advocate for my experiencing a painful death? Bull hockey."

A third voice added in, "I must concur with Mister Daniels' statement." Jeremy and Maistroff both turned to look at Gloval, who'd entered while the two had been glowering at one another.

Maistroff rebutted, "Henry, I'm telling you, this man," his statement emphasized by jabbing a finger at Jeremy, "Is a severe threat, and should be dealt with immediately. I'd not be surprised if he was somehow responsible for the loss of our fold engines!"

Jeremy scoffed, "Oh right. Sure, a severe threat. Let me guess, I'm going to destroy this vessel with only this ceramic mug. Oooh, scary."

Gloval squared his shoulders and set his jaw, " _Colonel_ Maistroff, this is my ship. And I will not space a man based off of pure conjecture. Especially not for such a spurious reason as you provided."

Maistroff started to object again, only to be cut off by Gloval, "Enough. Until Mister Daniels has been deemed a real and present threat to this ship, or the personnel aboard her, he will not be harmed or threatened with harm. Understood?"

Maistroff harrumphed and mumbled out "Fine" before he stormed from the room.

Jeremy looked at Gloval, "Sorry that you had to drop in Captain. Bit early for you to be up and around, especially after yesterday."

Gloval gave a low, throaty laugh, "Early? Try late. I've not had a chance to get some sleep yet. Besides, it was fortuitous that Sergeant Quail ran into me on her way back from the mess hall."

Jeremy couldn't help but laugh himself, "Seems I still have my same sort of knack for making friends."

Frowning, Gloval said, "I must apologize, Dennis, Colonel Maistroff is normally level headed, if a bit set in his ways. I am surprised that he was so adamant over, well, you. Regardless, that is not the fortuitous part. What is, is that I finished reading the preliminary report from Lang. I believe that you should read it yourself." Gloval offered a folder to Daniels, who took it, and leafed over the pages.

"Uh, I gotta admit, reading over this makes me feel like a real hayseed hick. I mean I'd like to think that I'm not a total dunce. But, egad. I can barely understand a quarter of the words. Hyperspace. Electro-magnetic fold interference. Five-dimensional cross-transpositioning. I dunno if I should hope that you do, or don't understand this any better than I do."

"I'll admit, I am not sure of the technical aspects myself. But Lang seems to be holding that you are not a fake posing as a dead man. Regardless, he is going to want to run more tests, to help confirm exactly what brought you here, and how we can get you back home."

Jeremy shrugged, "Eh, not much left behind for me anyway. But I do appreciate the sentiment sir. Although, what other tests _can_ that mad scientist run? He took a sample of dang near everything the first time. And hit me with enough excited particles that I may sprout a third friggin arm here."

Gloval chuckled again, "I'm not sure, but your continued cooperation will be appreciated. Still, before Dr. Lang gets another session with you, I'll make sure that you are allowed to get breakfast from the mess hall, and after that, we can go by your domicile so you can assist the MPs with searching it."

Jeremy nods before saying, "да товарищ капитан."


	3. Duty of a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Character of Jason Lundsford was utilized with permission granted by the late Chris "Dreadnought" Dickerson, and is being used in his honor.

**Chapter 3: Duty of a Man**

Daniels leaned over the table he was seated at, comfortably sequestered in the corner of the mess hall, a bevy of books spread around as he crunched away at a bowl of dry, knock-off cheerios. He idly digested the events of the past two weeks while also skimming the fort of books around him, hoping to get a grasp of the current events of this new world he found himself in. His thoughts interrupted by a friendly tone, "Oh, hi there sweety. I've not seen you around before. You one of those poor souls off of the Daedalus?"

Jeremy finished crunching through his current spoonful of cereal before responding to the matronly woman, taking the opportunity to give her a once over, "No ma'am. I wasn't." Before he can say more, cut off before he can continue.

"Oh, then you must be a new inductee from the civilians."

Jeremy shook his head, "Naw, I'm prior service, and fully intent on maintaining the 'prior' status ma'am. Th' name's Daniels. Jeremy Daniels. Formerly of the Marines."

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. Where are my manners, I'm Petty Officer Martha Filgore. It's nice to meet you." Martha drawled out in a thick Alabama lilt.

Jeremy smiled amicably and said, "Pleased ta meetcha Ms. Filgore."

Martha sat herself down across from Jeremy, "If ya don't mind me asking Jeremy. Why ain't ya lookin' to re-up? Goodness knows we need all the help we can get."

Jeremy shrugged while offering a wave to the approaching Sgt. Quail, "Look, I already did my time. Got jerked around, and I reckon I got a bit disillusioned with things. All I wanna worry about, is finding me a nice little place to carve out and hole up until we get back to Terra Firma. Nothing personal, but I did the rah-rah-ree serve your country bit, and I was drummed out because my being an acerbic, in-your-face sorta troop didn't sit well with my superiors. I have no desire to screw with that again, ya ken?"

Before Martha could respond Quail walked up and asked with a smile, "Good evening Jeremy... Why are you eating a bowl of dry cheerios?"

"Because they were out of pork chops, and the 'steak' is a crime against bovines the world over."

Janet blinked, "But, why no milk?"

Jeremy motioned at the collected books, "Don't wanna mess up the literature. Also, the only options for milk were almond or soy. Blech."

Shaking her head, Quail asked, "Mind if I sit down?"

Jeremy motioned at the open seats, "Plenty ta pick from Sergeant, though I am inclined to make some joking comment about you needing the captains permission to do anything since we're on a boat."

Filgore shot Jeremy a look, "Come now honey, this is a ship, not a boat. I'd expect for a proper Marine to know the difference. Even if he's a lapsed one."

Jeremy grinned wryly, "And I'd not be a proper, if lapsed, Marine if I didn't give y'all squiddes some grief over things. Now would I?"

Quail rolled her eyes and slid into a seat beside Jeremy, "Hope you don't mind me saying so, but I over heard your ... discussion about re-uping. If you don't mind my asking, what are you going to do in the meantime? You've been working with Lang for the past two weeks, surely you aren't intending to assist him all the way back to Earth."

"Nah, I think he's running out of trials to have me assist with. I have volunteered to be some extra dumb muscle with getting those two ships attached and all squared away. After that gets sorted? Eh, I'll find something to keep me occupied. Always have. Always will."

For the next hour, the trio chatted with one another. Finally, Jeremy looked at his watch, "Well ladies. It was a nice chat, but I gotta get rolling. I'm slated to start helpin out on the Prometheus in 30 minutes. And I'll have to run to get these books stowed afore that. Y'all take care. Alright?"

At this, Jeremy gathered his books and dishes before plodding off, a friendly nod exchanged with the ladies farewell.

After Daniels was out of earshot, Filgore mentioned to Quail, "You need to be careful Janet."

"What do you mean Martha?"

"I saw how you looked at that boy. And I saw how oblivious he was acting. Also, the past week, every time he was in here, and you were off duty. You just _happened_ to drop in as he was eating. You're sweet on him. Just be careful honey. OK?"

Quail laughed, "Martha, you're just seeing things. I'm a Marine, not some silly school girl. You're not seriously suggesting that I have a crush on him, are you?"

Martha sipped at her mug of coffee, "You said it, not me. I'm just observing. And advising you to be careful."

* * *

Jeremy walked through the bulkhead separating the Prometheus from the rest of the spaceship. Shaking his head and chuckling to himself Daniels marveled at the idea of both a fully submersible aircraft carrier. And one that dwarfed the Nimitz class in comparison. And further astounding was how the personnel of the Promie and the SDF-1 were refitting and MacGyvering the naval vessel into her new purpose as a deployment platform for the larger space vessel.

Rolling out his shoulders, Jeremy rocked in his boots as he scanned the munitions deck for Major Armstrong. Before he can spot the officer in charge, Daniels tenses as a rough hand clasp his shoulder. The grip tenses enough to let the strength of the owner be felt, but not so much as to be painful. "You lost son?"

Jeremy turns his head while fighting back his instinct to break out of the grip, he offers a slip of paper as he explains, "No sir, I don't believe I am. T'name is Daniels, Jeremy Samuel. I'm one of the volunteers for helping to muscle this pile of ordy into something resembling organization." as Jeremy spots his accosters bronze oak rank he adds on a belated, "sir."

The major nods as he takes the offered papers and scanned them, "I see. We are short handed and can use all the help we can get. Have you worked with munitions before Mister Daniels?"

JD nodded as he took in the stout black haired man, "Yes sir, spent some time on a Tarawa-class LHA. Not quite the same scale as this beast, but the job doesn't change much major."

"Roger that. Lance Armstrong, Major. Just so we're clear, all these Marines belong to me now. Keep things kosher we'll all get along fine. Place any of them in danger, and you won't live to regret it."

Jeremy nods as he smirks "Crystal clear Major. Wouldn't expect different from a fellow Jarhead. Sir."

Armstrong shook his head, "Let me guess, you were finance."

"No sir, I was a mudheel office. Then I got stuck in logistics for a short bit. And after that back to civvies. So, who do I report to sir?"

Armstrong turned Daniels' shoulder loose and motioned across the way to a well built black man, "Lance Corporal Schmitt needs the extra hands. I trust that won't be an issue?" Jeremy shakes his head and Armstrong continues, "Good. We are moving those missiles to bay 13. Let Schmitt know after that I need him to take his team over to prep the LOX to be transferred to the SDF-1. Clear?"

Daniels nodded as he saluted out of habit, "Aye aye sir. I'll pass it along." Catching his gaff, he laughed, "Er, sorry about that."

Armstrong just waved the man off and turned to continue organizing the chaos around him.

* * *

Gloval sat at his desk, glowing as he waded through the paperwork and reports that were building up from the struggles of the SDF-1. Over the past 2 weeks the crew of the vessel had worked tirelessly in rescuing as many of the personnel of the Daedalus and Prometheus, in addition to organizing and executing the retrieval of the civilians from the shelters across the transplanted Macross Island. To say nothing of collecting what resources they could from the frozen island and sea. Henry breathed a sigh of relief as he heard his door open, welcoming the respite it granted. At least until he saw Maistroff walk in a scowl etched on his face. "What is the matter Dennis?"

"Henry, what is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning of what?"

"It's not bad enough that you're tolerating this Daniels character, but you're also granting him access to the Daedalus and Prometheus? Are you mad?"

Gloval set his jaw as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Dennis, we're short-handed as it is. And he was asking for something else to do rather than sit around in his ... quarters for hours on end when Lang isn't needing him to run tests. It's not like I can lock him up for however long it takes us to get back to Earth. And he has been nothing but cooperative."

"Henry, I'm telling you, he is a danger and a menace, and we need..."

Gloval snapped and cut Maistroff off, " _Colonel,_ I do not know what grudge you can possibly have against this man. But enough is enough. Lang assures me that he is not masquerading as the deceased Jeremy Daniels. And to be frank I have run out of patience for you to continue to harp on this matter. He has been completely cooperative, especially given that he is being held as a few shades shy of a prisoner, and we are keeping his private property under lock and key as we try to suss out how to proceed. For heavens sake, he even was willing to show us all of his stockpile of arms and ammo."

"That's what I'm talking about _Captain_ , he has, and I quote the MPs that did the investigation, 'enough weaponry to arm a full platoon'. What if he decides to try to take over the ship?"

Gloval stood up, matching Maistroff in height, "With what personnel? He has no compatriots, he has no support, he is alone, and until he makes any motions to try to form some mutinous group, I will allow him to do what he can to help us, and to help himself feel useful. Now, Colonel, _is that all?_ "

Maistroff scowls even harder, and opens his mouth to retort when the comm line crackles to life, "Captain, there's a situation on the Prometheus. We need you on the bridge now sir."

Gloval curses under his breath as he replies, "I'm on my way." before he left his office he levels a stern look at Maistroff, "No more Dennis, please. At least not until you have some proof of this Daniels doing anything you are accusing him of. Understood?" in a tone that made it clear this was the final word in the matter.

* * *

Jeremy slowly returned to consciousness, his head pounding fiercely. "Ugh, I'm too young to be so familiar with this feeling." he groaned out while heaving himself back upright. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he heard a cacophony of shouts and the chilling sound of a fire raging. As Jeremy looked around, he spied Armstrong waving everyone out of the bay, "Move it! Move it! We're venting atmo in here in 90 seconds. Clear out!"

Not needing to be told twice, Jeremy staggered as fast as he could for the pressure door. As he cleared the threshold Armstrong motioned for Daniels to help with dogging the door itself. Jeremy asked, "This everyone sir?"

"No, but I don't see anyone else coming. And if the munitions and fuel cook off. We're all dead anyway."

Jeremy threw his shoulder against the door and heaved alongside Armstrong. Once the door closed and sealed, Armstrong moved to a control panel beside it and triggered the sequence to vent the bay. "Aw, hell."

Jeremy looked at the man concerned, "What?"

"The venting system isn't working. Son of a... You, Corporal. Get in touch with the bridge, inform them of what's happening and let them know we need every firefighter available here now. Everyone else, help with evacuating. If it gets too bad, the Captain will have to ditch the Promie. If you're aboard, you're space debris."

Jeremy hung back as his head continued to throb, "This sounds a bit sticky Major."

"That's putting it mildly son. If we can't get this handled and fast, we are looking at losing a lot of materiel not to mention the possibility for severe damage to the SDF-1."

"What are our options sir?"

Armstrong looks around before replying in a low tone, "Hope that the fire fighter crew responds fast enough. And clear out in case we do have to jettison the ship."

The corporal that had been dispatched returned out of breath, "Sir, we'll have fire fighting crews here in 15. The rest of the Prometheus should be cleared in 30, 45 minutes tops."

Armstrong spat out a curse and rubbed at his temple. "Fine, fine, keep people moving as fast as we can, and if possible, let's get some of the other gear out from the bays closer to the SDF-1."

Jeremy turned and started down the corridor out of the Prometheus but he stopped short after only going a dozen meters or so. "No, no, no. I need to bail. Now. No time to do anything... oh, hull nuts. I'll only live once." Grabbing the edge of the case beside him, Jeremy yanks it open and grabs the fire fighting equipment inside. Hustling back to the sealed door, Jeremy makes to open it, prompting Armstrong to grab him, "What in the hell are you doing?"

"Buying time sir. And doing something bloody frackin stupid."

"You go in there, I'm closing the door behind you. You read me?"

"Like crystal sir."

Armstrong hesitated for a moment before grunting out, "Fine, help me get this door open again."

"Aye aye."

Jeremy and Armstrong manage to lever the door open, and are immediately hit by the rolling heat pouring out of the munitions bay. Quickly yanking on the fire suit hood and gloves, Jeremy stepped into the broiling bay, the soles of his boots already starting to stick to the deck. Flashing a thumbs up to Armstrong, Jeremy gritted his teeth as the door was closed and dogged behind him. "Why did I think this was a good idea again?" he says aloud.

Forging ahead, Jeremy moved in on the nearest pile of munitions threatened by the blaze. Silently cursing that the shipboard fire suppression system was still being refit for zero-G operation, Jeremy brought his foam sprayer to bear and covered the missile racks with the insulating foam. For what seemed like an eternity, Daniels labored to push the fire back, using the various extinguishers around to keep the flames at bay, and away from the lions share of the munitions that were arrayed around the hangar.

Finally, the door opened again and a full crew in full fire suits stormed in and worked to contain the blaze. A pair of them coming alongside Jeremy and guiding him out of the bay. The small man didn't resist as he was guided over to a triage station, and treated. His quarter hour of battle with the blaze had resulted in minor burns to his arms and legs. Jeremy was content to merely rest, and be glad that he managed to not die, once more.

* * *

Three days later, Jeremy gingerly pulled open the door to his temporary quarters, his arms still healing from the minor burns he'd sustained. As he starts to close the door behind him, his instincts kick into high gear, and he realizes that there are people waiting for him in the other room. His hand dips reflexively for his sidearm, only to find nothing there. Gritting his teeth in annoyance at still being disarmed, he gripped the shoulder straps of his rucksack tightly, "At least a bag of books'll still ruin someones day." he muses to himself as he rounds the corner.

He was unprepared for the sight of the company who was waiting for him. Captain Gloval, Colonel Maistroff, Major Armstrong, he recognized. Also with them was a 4th man, tall, lanky, and his marking identifying him as a Commander. Jeremy stutters out, "Uh, howdy gents. I wasn't expecting company today. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Gloval spoke first, "Mister Daniels. You already know Colonel Maistroff and I gather that you've met Major Armstrong." he said gesturing at each man in turn before gesturing at the last man, "Allow me to introduce Commander Fokker, CAG and leader of Skull Squadron."

Jeremy nodded in greeting to the blond haired man. "Nice ta meet ya Commander, good to see you two again Captain, Major. And good afternoon Mister Maistroff."

Maistroff bowed up, "That's colonel."

"Psh, last I checked I ain't your troop, or even in service. So, be glad I'm at least giving you _some_ honorific. Still, again gentlemen, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Gloval leveled a stern look at Jeremy, "Mister Daniels, please a bit of cordiality."

Jeremy nodded, "Aye aye cap'n."

Fokker chuckled, "So, this is the fellow that was willing to go into a burning munitions bay. I think I just might like him."

Gloval shook his head, silently wishing for a shot of vodka, "Mister Daniels, the Major relayed your actions on the Prometheus a few days ago. While your actions were not strictly necessary. I feel you ought to be lauded for them." Maistroff sulked as Captain Gloval continued, "Which, actually brings me to our reason for being here. Mister Daniels, I would ask that you consider joining the RDF at least for the duration of our trip home."

Jeremy thought for a moment. "Yeah, no thanks. Not interested."

Maistroff guffawed, "Why am I not surprised. I told you that this was wasted effort Gloval."

Gloval turned his stern gaze onto Maistroff, "That's enough." he stated before addressing Daniels again, "That is your prerogative. However, for our second item to discuss. It is in regards to your ... special circumstances."

Jeremy leaned up against the wall, swinging the rucksack back and forth idly as he asked, "What about it?"

"You see Mister Daniels, I'm afraid that we must compel you to not reveal your true origins, nor anything about your life prior to your appearance on this ship."

Jeremy bowed his shoulders as he began to angrily retort, "Just wait one cotton pickin minute..."

Gloval held up a hand to silence him, "Please, hear me out."

Maistroff chimed in, "I'm telling you Gloval, he won't agree to this. We need to just lock him up, and let him stew."

Gloval snapped at Maistroff harshly, "I said _enough_ Colonel. His reticence is not unreasonable. I do not need you antagonizing him."

The russian took a moment to calm himself, "Please, Mister Daniels, Jeremy. Understand, the people of Macross Island are already shaken and scared. They have been torn from their homes, have been attacked by unknown extra-terrestrials, and we are now stranded on the far reaches of our solar system. Introducing the fact that we also have a visitor from... what. A parallel reality? That may be the straw that breaks the camels back."

Jeremy glowered, "And what if I decide to tell y'all to go to hell? Will you kill me? Lock me up in some dark corner to be forgotten? Only to be dragged out when that mad scientist you call a chief engineer gets some hare-brained idea of how to better torture me. And dang it, he still owes me a bloody lollipop!"

"No, but we will not support your statements and that will at best lead to people thinking you are insane."

"And worst case?"

Maistroff smirked, "We contain any leaks."

Jeremy glared at the man, "Oh, cut the bull hockey. I see how this goes. I co-operate, or I get made into a non-entity. And I presume that I won't even be given the barest amount of my possessions."

Armstrong shoots Gloval a quick glance, and receives a nod in response. "Mister Daniels, I swear on my honor as a Marine that you will not be treated unfairly if you decide to not throw in with the RDF. But, I entreat you. I lost all but a dozen officers from the Prometheus, and a score from the Daedalus. We lost over three quarters of our complement on both ships. We are hurting for bodies. But also for leadership. You are an officer. And we need you. The SDF-1 needs you. the people of Macross Island need you."

Jeremy crossed his arms and huffed, "Darn it, you and your appealing to my sense of right... But, heck, what can I do? I was a grunt leader. And from what I see, these nasties we're gonna be facing aren't gonna do more than blink at someone like me."

Fokker grinned, "I think you may want to see what surprises we have in store."

Armstrong nodded, "If you have the technical aptitude, I think we can get you in as a mecha driver."

Jeremy perked up, "Wait, d-did you say 'mecha'?"

* * *

A week later, Jeremy stood before the base in his jeans and t-shirt, the leather jacket draped over one shoulder, held in place by his thumb hooked in the collar. He had been making his way to the admin building that had recently been built on the SDF-1 before he had to stop in awe, gazing up at the titanic machine standing post by the hangers. As Daniels' mouth hung agape, a deep voice spoke, snapping him from his drooling stupor, "Impressive, aren't they?" JD turned to look at the man who looked to easily clear 6 feet in height, and had broad shoulders to match. Allowing him to veritably tower over Daniels far less imposing frame. The man continued, "It's one thing to see these from a distance, but being right by their feet just drives their scale home, doesn't it?"

The new acquaintance offered his hand, causing JD a moment of pause when he realizes that the meat hooks could easily palm his head like a softball, the large man said in a congenial tone, "Sergeant First Class Jason Lundsford. Can't say I've seen you around before Mister. What's your name?"

JD took the hand as best as he was able and gave it a good firm shake, "Well, fancy that. Just the man I'm supposed ta see. I'm 1st LT Jeremy Daniels, Marines."

Jason cocked his head quizzically, "Oh? I don't remember seeing you around sir. Were you stationed on the Prometheus?"

Jeremy shook his head, "Nah, I'd EAS'd before I came to Macross island. Just with things the way that they are, I can sit around like a lump and do bugger all, or I can get back in and try to do some good."

Jason nodded knowingly, "Good to hear sir, we lost a lot of good officers. But, why were you needing to see me specifically sir?"

JD smirked, as he motioned over his shoulder with his free thumb, " 'Cause I was told you're the one that's gonna get me cleared on these big stompy robots. I was infantry when I was last in, but that'll do a fart's worth of good against these aliens we're squarin off with, aye? Also, no need to be all formal with me. I ain't in uniform, and I ain't even officially back in yet. Though I've already met with Major Armstrong, and Colonel Maistroff, so it's all just gettin the formalities done."

Jason cracked a grin, "I read you, sir. Let's get you processed in, I suppose I'll get some good 1 on 1 time with you initially, the first selection of new recruits from the civilians are going to need a few weeks of basic before they get turned over to me."

JD chuckled before saying, "A few weeks? Damn, they're gettin it easy. What is this? Air force? Still, lead on Lundsford. Let's get the paperwork over so you can make a fool of this shrimp of a Marine." falling in easily behind his new acquaintance.

* * *

A few days later, Jeremy stumbled out of a sim pod puking his lunch all across the floor for the sixth time. Jason exited his own, a look of exasperation on his face, "Ell-Tee, take five to get some water, an we'll get back in OK?" JD nodded as he finished retching, wiping his mouth on the back of his newly issued jump suit. Stumbling over to a nearby table, he grabbed a lukewarm bottle of water and swished a mouthful around to clear his tongue of the taste of vomit.

"Not exactly the best start, eh Sarge?" JD joked weakly.

"It takes a bit for the brain to get used to the movements of a 'roid. If you're still doing this after two weeks, then we may have issues."

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, as JD eased some water back into his system. The pair having gotten to start feeling one another out from the intensive training regimen Finally Jason spoke up, "So Ell-Tee, where are you from?"

"South Carolina, right smack dab from the middle of the state."

"Huh, got family there?"

JD hesitated for a moment before replying, "None that I've seen in over 5 years."

"Well, you got yourself a lady friend back home?"

"Nah, had one, it ended abruptly. Rough times all around."

Jason sipped at his own water, his lack of reaction telling JD that he'd need to be real careful playing poker with Lundsford. Rather than letting the conversation track into more dangerous territory, JD went on the offensive, "What about yourself, you got a little lady somewhere? ... Well, little in a relative sense."

Jason cut a look at JD, "Are you saying that I'm big or something sir?"

JD deadpanned back, "Yeah."

Jason kept up the glower for a few more moments before he started to laugh. Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a photo, "Yes, I have a 'little lady', her name is Lynn. Convinced her to marry me even, some years back." he said offering the picture to JD.

JD studied the woman in the photo for several long moments, while she wasn't supermodel material, JD could see the attractiveness about her strong features, and couldn't help but feel a mild pang of jealousy at the stupid grin that Jason had plastered on his face in the photo as well. Offering the photo back he said, "Hot dog Sarge, got yourself a real winner there. Any runtlings to speak of?"

"Two, a boy and a girl. Mark and Jessica, respectively. My pride and joy. Not to sound too sappy."

JD grinned at the earnestness of the reply, "Not in the least. Are they back on Earth?"

Jason shook his head, "They're on ship, set us up in a temporary quarter hut. We're supposed to get assigned quarters soon. None too soon for my taste, the four of us in the one bedroom is grating. Personally I saw one house they dropped down last week that looks amazing, big, 2 story, brick. It has to have 3 bedrooms at least. Be great for us. But, I'm guessing some O5 is gonna snatch that up."

JD paused for a moment, "Red brick, big tree out front? The works?"

"Yeah, you seen it?"

JD coughed, "You might say that. It's mine."

Jason sighed, "Real funny Lieutenant, no way they'll give you that if you aren't even married. Much less an O2."

"Not what I meant Lundsford, that's _my_ house. They dropped it on base after I was effectively signed back up. Didn't make sense to have me stuck in a domicile halfway across the ship. And it also meant one less BOQ that needed to be made up."

Jason stared in bewilderment, "Sonuvabitch. Really?"

JD nodded, "Yeah, sorry. Better than some asshole field grade officer getting it. Right?"

"I don't know about that, an asshole junior officer might be more irksome."

Jeremy thought for a moment before laughing, "Fair point. ... You're going to make me pay for it for the rest of the day, aren't you?"

"No, the rest of the week. Going to have to just to make sure you're approaching minimum standards anyway."

JD groaned before finishing off his water. "Can't say I blame you Sarge. So back to it?"

Jason nodded once, his own bottle emptied as well, before both the men climbed back into the pods to run Jeremy through the ringer once more.


	4. Training and Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character of Jason Lundsford again belongs to Dreadnought and is being used in his honor, with permission. The same for the mention of the character Master Sergeant Grogan.

**Chapter 4: Training and Education**

Jeremy scowled as he felt his jumpsuit seep with sweat, pushing his discomfort to the back of his mind he focused on manipulating the controls of the Spartan to continue running the challenge course. Or at least doing so in the simulator. True to his word, Sgt. Lundsford was a brutal and unforgiving taskmaster, something that Jeremy appreciated and was grateful for. Both men knew full well the rigors of combat, and being soft in training was an unwarranted kindness.

Cranking the controls over, Daniels heaved his Spartan over into a duck while crossing under a low bridge. Hostile battlepods were hot on his heels, as they lay a fusillade along the corridor he'd just vacated. Rounding another corner, Jeremy had to throw his Spartan to one side, narrowly avoiding a crash with a hostile battlepod. Rebounding off the wall, he came in with a vicious shoulder check followed by several sharp blows to the near hip joint. A pulse of his flamer followed by a final shove toppled the mecha rendering it pacified for the moment at least. Not stopping to admire his handiwork Jeremy continued his flight, grumbling to himself, "Darn it. I know it's around here somewhere. Just gotta... Oop!"

Daniels has to again wrench the controls to dive into an open warehouse managing to make it in before the approaching enemies could spot him. With the cat and mouse game he'd been embarked on for the past five minutes extended, he took a moment to evaluate his options. He allowed himself to feel a flicker of pride in having disabled or severely damaging three separate hostile units despite being dry on ammo as he desperately searched for the warehouse that stored VF ready gunpods. A quick scan of his surroundings came up not with ordinance as he'd hoped, but rather crates and crates of plush animals and gaudily colored parasols. "Maybe if I chuck the toys at 'em, they'll be too busy playing with the teddy bears to notice me slipping away?" Jeremy muses.

He snaps out of his crazy fantasy as a quartet of hostile battlepods close in, a pair from each end of the road Daniels had dove off of. Sidling up to the wall off to one side of the door Jeremy weighed his options. "No ammo, flamer won't take down all four of 'em without needing to refresh from the reactor. And they don't seem to care one whit about fratricide. C'mon man, think. Think... Oh, there's an idea!"

Daniels reached the Spartans hands around the door frame and the nearest wall support beam, and he waited. Once the battlepods had moved in to flank the door on both sides, but before they entered and cleared the warehouse, Jeremy sprung to action. Clamping down hard on the door frame and the support beam, he snapped the metal soundly before quickly adjusting his grip down to the Spartans chest level. His mechas left hand on the support beam, he swung the wall around and planted in firmly to use it as an impromptu shield against the far pods while turning to the near pods and hosing them down with his flamer, the super heated plasma melting the alien mechs, and presumably whatever living being would have been inside, before the ammo stores cooked off. The surprise ruined, and the flamer reservoir emptied, Jeremy picked up the wall and charged. The thin metal provided little extra protection, but it afforded him enough time to close on the enemy units and smash the sad remains of the metal frame down onto the nearest mecha. Jeremy even managed to rip the rattled first pod apart. However his fellow machine, unperturbed by the insane tactic, calmly poured particle beam and autocannon fire into the human mecha. With a brief flash, the pod goes dark and the screens display a bevy of data that Daniels ignores, knowing full well he'll get all the information he needs once he has his boots back on a proper deck.

The program having finally runs its course shuts down the sim pod. Jeremy shakily exited, panting and already working the chinstrap of his helmet as he leaned heavily against the egg-shaped pod. Jason stood outside, a scowl on his face, "I can't believe it. I just cannot believe it. Do you have any idea what you've just done LT?"

Jeremy delayed answering in lieu of first sucking down a half-liter of water. His thirst slaked for the moment, Jeremy answers, "What? So I used some building material as additional ablative armor. Not like they were all that pretty looking beforehand."

"Not that, you dense mudheel. I mean the entire mission."

"Uh, I used unconventional tactics against a superior force, continuing to eliminate several hostile units despite being bereft of ammo, support, or sanity?"

Jason didn't respond other than to continue leveling a withering glare on the small man.

JD groaned, "Look, Sergeant, I dunno what it is I screwed up this time. So could ya throw me a bone and just tell me what the problem is?"

"The problem? You wanna know what the problem is? I'll tell you what the problem is. The problem is, you're going to be given a damn Spartan to drive."

Daniels tried, and failed, to mask his excitement, "Really?"

"Yes, really. God help us all."

Jeremy laughed as the hint of a smile crack through Jason's stern look. "Amen to that Sergeant. Amen to that."

Jason sighed, "Just do me a favor sir, don't call it a 'big stompy robot' in front of... anyone."

Jeremy chuckled while he unzipped his jumpsuit to his belt and folded the top half down, leaving his chest covered by a soaked undershirt, "Good lord Sergeant, you must've had the heat cranked up to a hundred and ten. You trying to broil me or something?"

"One-fifteen actually, not quite the same feeling as having the reactor run at combat levels, but that's as close as we can get without frying the pod's gear. Now LT, I'm going to need to finish my write-up for your progress. Grab some grub and I'll meet you at the hangar so we can start getting you familiarized with the Spartan."

Jeremy nodded as he tried to sop up the worst of his perspiration, "You got it, Sergeant."

* * *

The usual cacophony of meal time sounded throughout the mess hall, the clatter of flatware on plates droned out and mixing with the rumble of dozens of concurrent conversations as rumors were traded around the tables freely. As Captain Paul Frederich walked along, the blond, hawkish, narrow framed man picked up snippets of the conversations floating around him.

"Did you hear? They caught an AUL sympathizer on board, he was trying-"

"-heard from Jonsey that some black ops guy was found on board after we folded. Probably to make sure that Gloval was kept in-"

"You know about that guy that's training with Lundsford? I hear tell that he was grown in a test tube from samples they found on board. He's supposed to be-"

"-telling you, these aliens are just part of a conspiracy by the AUL. A whole group of them took off with experimental cloning gear and set up shop on the moons of Jupiter. These aliens we're facing are a farce to destabilize the UEG so the sleeper cells can-"

Frederich ignored the prattle around him as he strode purposefully along, only stopping as a nearby voice cut in over the din, "For fricks sake, last I checked Navy was supposed to have _good_ chow, I dunno what this dreck is, but a marinara sauce it ain't."

Zeroing in on the source of the voice Paul tracked the object of his derision until he arrived at the nearby table. Glaring down his sharp featured nose, Frederich didn't bother hiding his disdain as he quipped, "Lieutenant Daniels, why am I not surprised to find you here stuffing your face. Maybe you're hoping that eating like Lundsford will add a few inches onto your height?" Tracking his gaze across the table it settled on Sgt. Quail, prompting Frederich to ad on, "And you also have such fine taste in company too. Getting an early start on fraternizing too."

Daniels groaned inwardly as he rendered the appropriate greeting before he retorted to Paul's jabs, "Come now Cap'n, we both know the only way I'm tryin to grow is around. Seems the docs are less than thrilled with my having a skinny butt. And the way that Jace is drilling me I'm surprised I haven't wasted away into a comical stick figure and blown away. As for the good Sergeant, she has been tasked with ensuring that I get back up to date on rules and regs that've changed or that I've gotten rusty on from my time out of service. In addition to assisting me with my other duties until I get a formal assignment and a proper XO. Sir." Daniels returned the glare that Frederich had again levied on him, "Now, sir, is there anything I can help ya with?"

"Why, yes there is something, Lieutenant. You can go find yourself some little rat hole, in a forgotten corner of this ship, and disappear." Paul spat out.

Jeremy only idly listened as he tried to gnaw on something masquerading as garlic bread. After a few moments he replied with an all-too-sweet smile, "Sorry Cap'n, no can do-ski. I ran that idea past Major Armstrong and he vetoed it outta the gate. Same for me being the mascot for the Marines. I mean, I am small enough, but the consensus is that I ain't near cute enough for that billet." Looking over his lunch he continued, "So, sir, if there ain't some reasonable request I can do for ya. I'd kindly ask that you allow me to get back to... ugh, _enjoying_ my meal. Some of us actually have been doing work to build up an appetite ya see, sir."

Frederich snorted, "I know your type Daniels, sooner or later you'll mess up. And when that happens, I'll be glad to watch as you crash and burn." before he stormed off towards the food lines.

Jeremy glanced at Quail, "Man, I wonder who pissed in his cheerios. But more important than that, where is the blighter responsible for this offense against beef? My carnivorous nature demands that it be properly avenged."

* * *

Maistroff spared a glance up from his desk at the knock on his door, glad for the reprieve from the morass of paperwork he had been contending with Maistroff called out, "Come in."

The door opened and Jason's massive frame filled it for the moment he needed to enter the room. Snapping off a salute he said, "Sergeant First Class Jason Lundsford, reporting as ordered Colonel."

Maistroff smiled as he returned the salute, "Ah, excellent, I was needing a break from paperwork. At ease son. Please, sit."

Lundsford warily dropped his hand before carefully lowering himself into the chair opposite of Maistroff, "Thank you sir. Though I am confused as to why you wished to meet with me specifically sir."

Maistroff nodded, "I can sympathize with your confusion Sergeant, you needn't worry." Jason continued sitting stiffly listening as Maistroff asked in a paternal tone, "I wanted to ask about your plans for the future. What goals do you have son?"

Jason sat and considered his reply, "Well sir, to be frank, my goals first and foremost are to make sure that my family and I return back to Earth safely. Beyond that everything else is tertiary."

Maistroff pursed his lips, "That's it? No concern for your career or anything past making it home?"

Jason stifled a chuckle as he motioned with his hand, "To be fair sir, we're somewhere near the orbit of Neptune, with a course that is projected to have us swinging near Saturn in the next few months. Ensuring my children make it home and remain safe is weighing far more on my mind than picking up rank once we return to Terra Firma."

Maistroff allowed himself a moment to wistfully smile, his eyes falling to a picture on his desk before returning to address Lundsford, "Of course Sergeant, I can appreciate your position. But, let's get down to brass tacks. While we did not suffer the same severity of losses as the Marine contingents officer corps, we are finding ourselves in a dearth for good leadership. And given the reports I've received about you, we have few more promising candidates to be brevetted to fill the gap. So long as your judgment remains sound."

Jason leaned back at the question, "Permission to speak freely sir."

Maistroff nodded and motioned for Jason to continue with his hand.

Clearing his throat Jason spoke frankly, "For the record sir, I much prefer for any requirements on my performance to be laid out clearly and directly. Implications are far too dangerous in our line of work. Sir."

Maistroff shifted to a congenial, if faked, smile, "Implications? Nothing of the sort First Sergeant. I was merely making an … observation about where the Army Destroid corps stands."

Jason nodded, unconvinced, "I see sir. I am honored to be considered as officer material. And if I am tapped for a brevet position I will do my utmost to carry out my duties to the best of my abilities. Sir."

Maistroff drummed on his desk for a few seconds, "That is all we could ask of you, son." he said before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, "I was curious though, Sergeant, you're training that Daniels fellow. Yes?" Jason nodded before Maistroff continued, "How is his training going? Any problems or issues of note? Any … concerns about his position?"

Jason narrowed his eyes before retorting, "I don't see what that has to do with anything, sir. I was asked to train him. And instructed quite clearly to report on his progress to Major Armstrong. I don't see why you'd need to be concerned about him at all. For that matter sir, it would be far better for you to ask the Major about Daniels' progress."

Maistroff's features briefly flashed icily before he composed himself, "If you must know Sergeant, I have heard some concerning bits of news about your student. It has been reported that he was reading a copy of the AULs manifesto a fortnight ago. And his position on the Prometheus when the accident occurred is, to a minor degree, suspicious. I believe that Major Armstrong is too focused on his potential as an officer to truly give the proper level of credence of the threat posed due to these factors. Now would you please answer the question, _Sergeant_."

Jason squared his shoulders and stared at a spot on the wall behind Maistroff as he replied, "Well Colonel, for a full report you will need to contact Major Armstrong for my formal notes on Lt. Daniels' instruction. But, from a mechanical standpoint, his skill with a Destroid is excellent. The lateral thinking he's employed is inspiring. His marksmanship is exemplary. And I have little cause to believe that he will have anything in mind but the safety of the ship, her crew, and it's civilian cargo. Any stumbling he suffered in the initial training is not out of the ordinary for new trainees. And I dare say that if we had Master Sergeant Grogan aboard, I could see Daniels being formed into a first class Destroid Driver."

Maistroff listened with a slight scowl, motioning for Lundsford to continue with only his hand.

"If we're not talking about his mechanical aptitude. All I can report on is in how insular he acts. The few times I've tried to probe for any information about his experiences or past he always changes the subject and deflects the questions. Add on top of that his apparent reticence to form more than the barest of acquaintances. As such the only concern I have is in regards to his personal mental health."

Maistroff leaned forward, "You think he could pose a danger to others?"

Jason shook his head, "Not at all sir. He is attempting to keep everyone at arms reach. And that is only going to make his life untenable once we get into combat sir. I've seen it before; an obstinate, single minded, motivated officer. Once their unit takes losses, they fall into a cycle of blame, retrenchment, and distancing themselves. Bearing the whole weight of any failures, real and imagined, on their own. Once they reach their limit, they invariably lay down, give up, and die without as much as a whimper."

"So, your position is that he's only a threat to himself?"

Jason nodded, "That, and the enemy. I did take the liberty of pulling his psych eval along with his CV. The analysts have Daniels pegged as a classic type A personality. Goal and detail oriented, determined to a fault, a markedly high level of empathy and a note that he carries a strong belief in his own personal responsibility. However, the CV was damn near useless. What it did state was barely more than his vital statistics. No unit listings, no training post records, no COs named, no theaters of operations assigned to, et cetera. Aside from stating that he did most of a 4-year contract before being forcibly separated, it could have been used for any civilian off the street. Hell, we could have saved time and ink by printing it off on black construction paper. That being said; you, Captain Gloval, Commander Fokker, and Major Armstrong all signed off on his re-activation papers. Sir."

Maistroff furrowed his brow and crossly cut off Jason before he had a chance to go further, "I see Sergeant, thank you."

"If that is all sir, I have duties I need to attend to."

Maistroff nodded absentmindedly, and dismissed Lundsford with a wave of his hand, "Yes, yes. As you were Sergeant."

Jason stood and rigidly saluted, waiting for it to be returned before he spun on his heel and walked to the door. Maistroff called out as Lundsford's hand was on the door knob, "First Sergeant do be careful, Daniels is not what he appears to be. Do not let him manipulate you."

Jason didn't respond other than to open the door and leave Maistroff in his office.

Dennis grumbled to himself, massaging the sides of his head is frustration for several minutes before another series of knocks came from his door, "Enter."

Paul Frederich walked in and snapped off a crisp salute, asking "Good afternoon. Is... something the matter sir?"

Maistroff shot an annoyed look at the Captain, "Yes, it seems that either I pushed too hard, or we waited too long to reach out to Sergeant Lundsford. In either case, I am afraid that that avenue for neutralizing the threat Daniels poses is cut off."

Paul frowned, "I still don't understand why you don't press the issue and have that scrawny prick shoved off in a dusty corner, sir."

Maistroff leveled a stern look at Frederich, "You had best watch your tongue Captain, saying that outside of this office will land both you and I in more trouble than we need to deal with, especially with the problems we already have to tackle." Paul shrunk back like a chastised dog before Maistroff continued, "Without having a valid reason for why _Lieutenant_ Daniels is a threat, or some other evidence of misconduct, my hands are tied. So keep you mouth shut. Am I clear."

Paul nodded quickly, before he broke into a smile, "Other evidence of misconduct sir? I have some potentially good news then."

Maistroff leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, "What do you have for me Captain?"

Paul continued his hawkish smile as he clasped his hands, "We're going to want to keep a close eye on Daniels and Sergeant Quail. I have a feeling that will give us all we need, sir."

* * *

Jeremy groaned as he stumbled into the hangar bleary-eyed and mindlessly clutching at his mug of black gold in one hand, a duffle bag in his other. One of the techs shook his head bemusedly as he walked over, "Morning El-Tee, what can I do for you?"

Jeremy responded by holding up a finger before taking a sip of the brew in his mug and dropping the duffle bag off to the side of the bay, "Too dog gone early for civilized people to be awake, I tell ya h-what. The name's Daniels, and I'm supposed to meet Sgt Lundsford here. Something about being allowed to borrow some poor crew chief's Spartan."

"Daniels you say? Then that's gonna be your ride over there sir. Guess I'm the unlucky chief, Petty Officer Second Class Randall. Leroy J. Randall."

Daniels nodded as he sipped at his coffee, "Well then, can we dispense with he malarkey? It's your ride, I'm borrowing it. I bring in back all beat up you'll tan my hide yada yada yada?"

Randall laughed, "Sounds about right. Nice to have someone around that knows the drill. You drive one of these babies before?"

"Nah, but this ain't my first rodeo." Jeremy slurred out, looking over the mecha he asked, "So, she got a name yet?"

"Nah, freshly assembled from the factory kit so only a serial number, SP-34985. We were about to do a run up of the systems to work out the kinks." Randall cast an appraising look over Jeremy, "Nerves get to you last night or something sir?"

Jeremy shook his head, "Not nerves. Just a buncha tossing and turning is all chief. And if you don't mind my butting in, I'd be glad to help out."

Leroy nodded, "Sure thing. Everything checked out individually before we put all the pieces together. But you know how these things are."

Jeremy chuckled, "Not really, but I can imagine. Just point me where I need to go and tell me what I have to do."

Randall nodded and began to direct Daniels on how to best help with the work up of what was to be his mecha.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Jeremy was stuck up to his waist in the right leg assembly when he felt a hand grab his belt and lift the small Marine out like he was little more than a rag doll. Daniels found himself grease streaked face to flat-faced visage of Lundsford.

The larger man stated without a hint of humor, "You looked to be having fun there half-pint."

Jeremy shrugged as he idly swung the breaker bar he had just been using back and forth, he commented with a lopsided smirk, "Just keeping busy Sarge. Surely you have an inkling as to how dangerous a bored Marine can be. To say nothing of a bored officer."

Jason shook his head as he dropped Jeremy to the floor without ceremony. "Chief, I hope that the butterbar here wasn't too much trouble."

Jeremy clambered to his feet, "Oh come on First Sarge, I did at least make 1st LT."

"Uh huh, any other accomplishments you want to offer up."

Jeremy nodded as he stated solemnly, "I'll have you all know I was voted second most likely to be treated like a sack of potatoes. And fourth most likely to succeed at my high school."

Randall hid his grin behind a fist as he asked, "Just how big was this school of yours sir?"

Daniels didn't even miss a beat with his reply. "It was just me. I was home-schooled."

The entire bay paused to laugh as Jason just sighed and rubbed his forehead. Randall prodded as he continued to chuckle, "Oh? And who was most likely to succeed then?"

Jeremy shrugged, "The sack of potatoes."

Jason groaned before he gestured at the far side of the bay saying "Anyway Lt. If I may have a moment of your time."

JD nodded and started to amble over to the indicated area, wiping his face with a towel that Randall tossed his way. After he had crossed over he asked, "So Sarge, what's up?"

Jason regarded the smaller man carefully for several long moments. "You and Maistroff have some sour history."

JD shrugged, "Not really."

Jason cocked an eyebrow, "Not really? So this is something that you don't care to talk about."

Jeremy laughed, "Not at Jason. I swear, I never met the man before I showed up on ship here. Honest. I have no damn clue why he has such a hate-on for me. What convinced you that there's some sordid past there?"

Jason kept quiet as he mulled over his words. When he did speak, he kept his tone quiet,"I came here from a meeting with the Colonel. He was fishing for anything to disqualify you. And while he didn't say it directly, I gathered that he was willing to toss favors my way if I were to undercut your passing muster."

Jeremy shook his head, "Can't say it surprises me. My first meeting with the man lead off with his calling for me to be spaced. Really set the tone of things. Gotta love politics aye?"

Jason nodded slightly, keeping his face impassive. With no further response Jeremy added, "Just do me a favor Sarge. Don't get yourself into hot water over me. I ain't worth it."

Jason scrunched his face in a quizzical look, "Care to say that again sir."

"Maistroff is your big cheese. If you have to play politik, do what you gotta do. You have a wife and kids to worry about. Me, I'm a crayon munching Jarhead."

Jason suppressed a chuckle though he did allow himself the barest of smirks, "I'm not one to play politics sir. And to be frank, we can't be picky with who we get in as drivers right now. The only way I'm not signing off on you being a driver is if you somehow screw things up in the real deal. That's the best way I can worry after my family. Sir."

Jeremy grinned slyly, "Fair enough First Sarge. Oh, that reminds me."

Trotting over to his duffle across the bay, Jeremy hauled it back over to Jason, "I dunno when they'll get proper facilities up for it, so until they get schools running, I figure that you and the little lady can make use of these."

Jason took the bag and opened it, "Textbooks?"

JD nodded, "I said I was home-schooled didn't I? May as well try to keep up the kiddos education."

Jason gave a small, warm smile, "I'll make sure we put these to use. Though speaking of education. It's about time we get you some real stick time."

Jeremy nodded, "Fine, fine, I think the techies were about fed up with my 'assistance' anyway."

* * *

Jeremy, now clad in his jumpsuit and helmet, triple-checked that his harness was secured and snugged around his torso. " Trainee Daniels here, ready for start up checklist."

Referencing the page on his kneeboard, he toggled a switch, "Priming coolant pumps, cycling electronic systems, prepping for ammo feed, flashing heatsinks. Reading all green across the board."

Randall toggled in, "APU is hooked in, ready to jump start the reactor."

"Aff, fusion pile open, mag-clamps are a go. Ready for jump-start."

Jeremy bit his lip as the APU fed power into the mechas fusion heart, he knew that there was practically no chance for a catastrophic chain reaction. But this was still a fusion reaction being kick-started on a scant few meters from his seat. Making sure to mute his mic he mused, "Plenty of egg heads that'd love to see this thing work. And who gets lost here? Muckle-old me."

As the fusion pile heated, the hum from the reactor increased from a thin whine to a low rumble as the reaction reached self-sustainability. The temperature jumped a few degrees as the mecha awoke. Randall called over the radio, "Reactor running within spec. APU disconnected. You're live LT."

Jeremy looked at the lightboard again as he unmuted his mic, "Copy that chief, coolant is cycling. Power feeds green. Sensors are up, still got all green. She's alive. Instructor, Trainee Daniels requesting permission for a walk."

Jason's cool tone came through the radio, "Instructor copies Trainee, hold tight."

Jeremy tucked his hands under his thighs as he grinned like an idiot, absentmindedly tapping his feet. The Marine jumped as Jason snapped across the radio, "Trainee, I said hold tight! We do not need you tap dancing in place."

Jeremy drew his legs up from the foot pedals, "Apologies Instructor. Holding tight."

A few of the tech chuckled and chatted among themselves as Spartan 34985 stopped drumming her feet on the deck. The obligatory jokes at the nervous officer being bandied about.

Daniels knew that the enlisted rates were probably having a good laugh at his expense, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He focused on tapping out a rhythm with his thumbs on his thighs as he awaited clearance to drive the Spartan. The sim pod was good for familiarization, but actually sitting in the mecha was a whole other feeling entirely.

Jason came back on the radio after what seemed like an eternity, "SP 34985, prepare to follow lane 2 out of the bay. Ground crew attend, lane 2 is marked for Spartan Departure, Lane 4 for 'Hawk departure. Signal when clear."

Careful to not actuate anything, Jeremy gingerly took the controls as he awaited final clearance. Base traffic control cut in, "Judge, Sierra Papa 34985 you are both cleared for departure on indicated lanes. Judge, make sure the rookie doesn't crash into a building as he pops his cherry. I've seen recordings of his sim runs."

Jason chuckled as he replied, "Copy that BTC, I'll try to keep him from causing collateral. OK half-pint, let's get out of here."

Jeremy called over the radio, "Rodger that Judge, exiting bay via doors not via walls." Manipulating the controls, Daniels guided his Spartan out of the bay following the indicated path, slowly and deliberately. "Sierra Papa 34985 has exited, awaiting further instructions."

"Took you long enough, we've wasted enough time. Fall in, first stop is the mobility course."

* * *

The bridge of the SDF-1 was a showcase of controlled chaos, a preemptive long range barrage that was now being followed up by a surprise attack. Gloval growled to himself before barking, "Report!"

Vanessa responded first, "Sir, RADAR and LIDAR tracking the enemy force. 4 frigate class 2 destroyer class and 1 cruiser class vessels are on an intercept course from our aft port quarter. There is a battleship and super battleship vessel prosecuting the bombardment off our starboard beam. We do not have a firm number on the enemy small craft as of yet sir, but it is estimated to be between 1,000 and 1,500. Approaching from multiple vectors off our aft."

Kim followed up, "Damage reports are coming in, minor injuries from all over the ship, but the particle beams are doing minimal damage to our hull plating."

Sammie chimes in, "Minor injuries reported from all quadrants captain, but civilians are proceeding to designated blast shelters, and DamCon teams are showing prepared for action."

Gloval growls a curse under his breath, "Lisa, what's our status?"

"The VF squadrons are at 65% readiness sir. The destroid corps are at 75% readiness for the mecha but pilots are only up to 30%, if that. PDS are operable at 95%."

"Bozhe moi. I'd hoped that we would've had a bit more time to prepare. Lisa, Claudia scramble everything that is available."

* * *

Jeremy veritably collapses into the command seat of his destroid. "So Sarge, what's the word? Should I start practicing peeling taters?"

On the comm screen Jason shook his head, "You're not hopeless sir. World of difference between the sims and the real deal though."

Jeremy nodded as he sucked down a half liter of water, taking a breath as he finished he replied, "I knew that was the case Sarge. Same thing for the difference between training and actual combat 'n all of that."

Jason suppressed a snort of laughter, keeping his face impassive as he continued to scrutinize Daniels over the vid screen. Lundsford had tried to dismiss Maistroff's comments, especially with the way his actions smelt of a backroom deal. Even so, the doubts niggled at the back of his mind.

Weighing his words carefully, Jason spoke up, "LT."

Jeremy glanced at the screen, "What's up Sergeant?"

"There's something you're not telling me."

Jeremy cocked his head to the side in thought, "Yup, you're right. There's a few things I ain't volunteering."

"Well, mind filling me in?"

"Yes, I do mind Sergeant. Nothing that I am keeping close to my vest is germane or pertinent to anything. It's all quite personal."

"So, you mentioned that Maistroff wanted to space you. That's due to something with your personal life? What gives?"

Jeremy sighed, "Again, I had absolutely zero contact with Colonel Maistroff prior to me finding myself aboard the SDF-1. Though, needless to say, his animosity has been freely reciprocated by myself. But nothing in my own past has anything that I know of that could have lead to him wanting to have me executed."

"And these rumors of you being an AUL sympathizer?"

"That's a bit more complicated. But, hell, I'll be straight with you Jason. I do not like the idea of a one world government. So on that front I suppose I do at least share in that perspective. On the other hand, having read their non-nonsensical and outright insipid manifesto, on top of having read up on their 'revolutionary' activities. I can assure you I'd sooner shoot any member of the AUL than to assist them. Blighters making a habit of attacking civilians, of attacking _children_ doesn't sit right with me none. Any opposition I'll have against any united Earth government will be purely to secede from them once we aren't having to face a frakking alien invasion."

"Then, why did you read their manifesto?"

"Easy, 'Know your enemy' and all of that. If we do make it back to Earth, I figure we'll likely have to deal with the AUL at some point. Best to know what sort of crazy we're fighting. Right?"

Jason nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, "I do have to admit though, you haven't gone into any detail about your family back home. Or about what you were doing between your EAS date and Macross Island."

Jeremy cleared his throat as he drew his face into a frown, "That's real simple there, not a lot of pleasant memories. Life hasn't been all that fun for me, not since I was a wee little lad. Easier for me to shove all that into a dusty corner and ignore it."

Jason scowls, "If I may speak freely sir?" as Jeremy nodded Lundsford pressed on, "This is going to make it damn hard for anyone to serve under you. There are plenty of rumors flying around about you. Including that you are a disavowable asset here to keep Gloval in check. Or that you're a mad science experiment. Or that you're an extra crafty saboteur waiting to blow us all to kingdom come. And so far the best that you have done is to remove rumors without filling the information void with facts. That's going to play merry havoc with establishing any unit cohesion. Sir."

Jeremy shrugged, "I guess thems the breaks Sergeant. Anything that I could add in would be so hopelessly generic that it'd get dismissed as an obvious fabrication anyway. I reckon I'll just hope that my actions will speak loudly enough to satisfy people. And if that ain't enough, I'll have to deal with it. Now, is there anything else? Or could I get to the critiquing of my piloting ability, instructor?"

Lundsford eased out a sigh, "That's all for now sir. As for your performance, it was average at best. Your mobility course times tell me that you'll need to get used to the motion of the destroid itself, and your malfunction clearing will need work. On the marksmanship course, you performed slightly above average, but you will need to work on ammo conservation techniques. Still, good enough to continue on. I estimate you'll be up for a space walk qual within a week sir."

Jeremy nodded, "I'll take that to heart instructor. Back to the barn then."

The pair of mecha turn to head back to the hangar. Only to be caught off guard as the entire ship bucks beneath them. Alarm klaxons wailing in response. Jeremy exclaims, "What the devil?"

The radio crackles to life as Claudia's voice barks out, "Alert! Alert! All Destroid and Veritech operators to their craft. Emergency scramble, I say again, emergency scramble."

Jeremy and Jason look at one another on their comm screens before pushing their machines hard towards the mecha hangars.

* * *

Jeremy and Jason bicker as they approached the hangar, "Sir, I cannot allow you to sortie in good conscience. We've only touched on the basics of destroid operation outside of sims, you have yet to take any of the intermediate courses. There is no way you are ready for the ZG cert, much less being dumped into combat. You are not ready." the big man heavily emphasizing the last 4 words.

Jeremy retorts, "Sergeant, you hear all that out there? Between the shots we're taking, and the klaxons going off I don't think I'm going to get the chance to get fully prepped first. We both heard the order for an emergency scramble. Like it or not, I ain't gonna get the time to cross my Is and dot my Ts because the defecation has well and truly hit the ventilation."

Before Jason and Jeremy can continue their verbal spat, their radios again crackle to life and the glowering face of Commander Hayes stares at the both of them. "Judge, SP-34985, this is Gunsight-01 what is your status?"

Lundsford responds, "This is Instructor Lundsford, we are returning from an initialization course for my trainee in SP-34985. We will put in. I will take on a hot-reload, and the trainee will debark and make for his assigned DamCon team if need be."

Lisa shook her head, "SP-34985, you are being sortied as part of the emergency scramble. Do you understand?"

Jeremy nodded and began to acknowledge when Jason cuts in, "Commander, with all due respect, I must protest pushing my trainee into combat at this juncture, his training is woefully incomplete. If we send him out we are wasting all of the time and resources we have spent on him at this time."

Jeremy looked between the two vidscreens showing Lundsford and Hayes before speaking, "Gunsight-01, this is SP-34985, Trainee Daniels commanding. I acknowledge the orders and I am willing to sortie being fully cognizant of the dangers and likelihood of my survival."

Jason furrowed his brow as his face turned a shade redder, "Trainee you stay out of this. Gun-"

Lisa cuts off the Sergeant, "First Sergeant Lundsford, your concerns and objections have been noted. But these are the Captains orders. All personnel who have moved from simulators to on-stick training are to be sortied. Now both of you get berthed and prepare to receive combat loads."

Jeremy speaks up again, "Gunsight-01, if I may. As far as I have been informed I have no unit, nor does Instructor Lundsford. If possible I would be willing to submit to him as my superior for the duration of this combat."

Hayes addresses Jason, "Judge, is that satisfactory?"

Jason nods his head, his face still twisted in a scowl, "Affirmative Gunsight-01. That is as satisfactory given the circumstances."

Lisa nods, unperturbed by Lundsford visage, "Judge, SP-34985, your designation is Misfit-01 and Misfit-02 respectively."

"Misfit-01 acknowledges. Also, SP-34985 is to be designated Half-pint."

"Misfit-02 acknowledges. Though don't I get a say in my designation?"

Jason retorts flatly, "No."

Lisa adds on, "No."

"Judge, Gunsight ... Half-pint acknowledges."

* * *

Barely waiting for Randall and his techs to clear the gantries Jason pilots Judges out of the hangar while signaling for JD to follow. "Misfit is en route to airlock 14. We are armed for bear and ready for action."

As the pair made their way out of the hangar, Jason indicates for Jeremy to change to the comm frequencies. Daniels complies, "Judge this is Half-pint. How copy?"

"Judge copies 5 by 5."

"What do you need instructor?"

"I want you to be clear how this is going. I give you an order you follow it, I don't give you an order, you keep you head on a swivel and stay alert. Stay alive. Clear?"

"Crystal. You say jump, I ask how high."

"Wrong, if I tell you to jump. You just _jump_. None of that 'ask how high on the way up'. Either you jumped high enough, or it won't matter. Also, no theatrics, no heroics. Now, go ahead and cycle check your vernier thrusters. Maglocks too. And give me a report on your weapon status."

"Aff lead." Jeremy busied himself with checking his systems while also balancing his rapid trot to keep up with Jason in his Tomahawk. As they approached the airlock he spoke up, "Judge, Half-pint."

"Go ahead runt."

"Thrusters, vernier and main are green. Maglocks are operating at max. LASER turret is solid, missile launchers are ready to rock. Gun cluster has the autocannon, mortar, flamer and MG group green. The LASER cannon is flickering yellow but full readout has it in specs on the low end. GAU-11 is fully synced with my systems. How copy?"

"Solid copy, keep an eye on that cannon. If that goes bad it has a bad habit of cooking off your mortar rounds."

"Roger Judge. So, Judge, you don't trust me."

Jason hesitated as he waited for the airlock to finish cycling open, "Say again 02"

"Judge, you don't trust me. Do you?"

"What if I don't. _Trainee?_ "

"Nothing. Probably prudent on your part to be honest." The pair of mecha entered the open airlock and waited to be cycled out to the hull of the SDF-1. "We've only met what? 4, 6 weeks ago? And as you have pointed out, and seemingly had pointed out, I am a bit of an unknown quantity."

Lundsford allowed a hint of irritation into his voice, "You got a point to this Half-pint?"

"Sargent, I am ensuring that we both know where we stand with each other, and with ourselves. Once we're under fire doubt or distraction is liable to be fatal for either, or both of us. So let me be clear. I will follow your orders Sergeant, no heroics, no theatrics. We go out, take our post, drive the enemy off, and survive. That was the intent of your orders, correct?"

Jason nodded as the airlock finished its task, "Aptly put, if verbose. _Sir_. Now enough talking. It's time for a space walk.


	5. Trial by Fire

 Jeremy stared in awe at the limitless expanse as the airlock door slid back to allow the destroids passage onto the hull of the SDF-1. As he steps beyond the airlock threshold, the wonder is swapped for Daniels' inner ear and stomach protesting over the sudden absence of 'down' while his body floats against his harness. The comm squawks, "Half-pint, Judge. Your cockpit is reading green, if you need to use your barf bag the time is now."

Jeremy fights off the waves of nausea to choke out, "Half-pint acknowledges."

Turning to the business at hand, Jason continues, "Our sector is Blue 18, keep tight and watch your sensor package."

Daniels nods and falls in behind the leading tomahawk. Each step jostling his body and pressing another series of protests about his lack of equilibrium. By the time they reached their assigned sector, Jeremy had managed to compose himself. Jason called over the Comms, "You're looking better there Half-pint. Bet you were wishing for that ZG training." Jeremy nods in assent as Lundsford asks, "Know where we are?"

"Aye, starboard dorsal side, fore of amidships. Plenty of point defenses around I see. Makes sense."

"It does? Well Trainee, why does this make sense?"

"Instructor, first there are only a pair of us, rather than the usual grouping of 3 or 4. Second, we aren't so much plugging a hole as we are helping to fill out a solid coverage bubble. And finally, even if we are sortieing Eff En Gees, ideally we would want to place said inexperienced personnel in areas that were less critical. Such as the bridge defense zone, or on the aft around the engine clusters."

"So you would valuate our position as non-critical?"

"No instructor. Less critical, not unimportant. With this position, if I flub up and we have to fall back, or I get pasted, this zone will only be weaker for the defensive bubble. As opposed to having a hole opened up, or having the bubble strained near one of the aforementioned high priority zones. Instructor."

Jason nodded, "So you did listen when I went over that."

"Of course, I only struggled because your melodious delivery threatened to lull me to sleep."

"Funny. Now that's enough chatter, keep your eyes peeled and link your sensor suite to mine."

* * *

Over the next quarter hour, Jeremy and Jason stood post and watched as the battle raged far and away. The Veritech squadrons fighting like hellions to keep the alien machines pressed back from their mothership. As the Valkyries fought, Daniels floated on his command chair half listening to the comm chatter of the SPACY aviators locked in their life and death dance. The Marine distracted himself from the pit of anxiety lodged in his stomach with breathing exercises and re-checking his mechas status again. He is almost grateful for the release granted by the comms crackling to life with Commander Hayes' voice, "Misfit, Gunsight-01, be advised. Hostile forces have breached the perimeter and are vectoring in on your sector. How copy? Over."

Jason's replies in an easy and level tone, "Gunsight, Misfit-01. Solid copy. Preparing to receive hostiles. Break. Half-pint, slave your missile fire control to my computer and wait for my word to fire. Copy? Over."

Jeremy nods as he slaves his fire control computer to Judge. "Solid copy Judge. Awaiting fire order. Guess SPACY didn't want us to get bored. Over."

"Stow the chatter runt. Things are about to get dicey, and we're about to see how well you can dance."

Jeremy grimaced, the pit in his stomach now seemed to twist his insides around viciously. An all too familiar and thoroughly unwelcome sensation. Thankfully he didn't have long to wait before his RADAR grew contacts. First five, then a dozen, thirty, and finally seventy-eight boxes formed on his display. Jeremy toggles the comms, his voice ranging a half-octave higher from the adrenaline, "Judge, I am seeing seven eight tangos on my scope. Say again, seven eight tangos. Copy?"

"Half-pint, Judge copies. Confirmed seven eight hostiles. Designating your missile targets now. Pop your covers but continue to hold fire. Over."

Jeremy toggles the master arm switch for his shoulder launchers as he acknowledges the order. "Roger, prepped and awaiting fire order."

Setting his jaw, Jeremy spares a moment to toggle his MFD to look at the wider battlefield his brow furrowing as he appraised the situation. The SDF-1 sat surrounded by a swarm of angry red blips, broken only by all too few pockets of green icons. The CAP and defensive lines of Veritechs were fighting hard but, as outnumbered as they are, the pilots could only slow the approaching onslaught reaching for their home.

"Half-pint, Judge. Focus on our sector, the rest of the battle will take care of itself."

Jeremy signals his assent with a grunt as he switches his MFD display back to the local area, the nearly four score of hostiles bearing down on them shone brightly on the HUD. A pair of VFs scythes through the formation as eleven red lights wink out. The targeting computer already reallocating the missiles to new enemies.

Jason calmly intones, "Distance at three zero miles. Six seven tangos still on scope. Continue to hold fire, oh two."

Taking a deep breath, Jeremy replies, "Affirm oh one. Holding." the pit in his stomach now forgotten. Tensing on the controls Daniels subconsciously drops his mecha into a slight crouch, coiled and ready to spring. Glancing around nervously, Jeremy desperately wishes he had some level of cover to utilize.

"Two two miles. Get ready." Jason's call snaps JD back to the task at hand. With a final check, he confirms that his master arm switch is toggled to on. For good measure he also toggles the cover for his gun cluster, anticipating needing the firepower soon.

"Two zero miles, oh two fire!"

On command, Jeremy thumbs the fire control for his missile racks. And 54 missiles soar from the two mecha, racing and spiraling in on the alien forces. Lunging to his right, Daniels readies his head mounted laser turret as he closes the covers for his missile bays.

The incoming mecha formation breaks and scatters trying to jink the incoming warheads, the formation ruined and a few of the battlepods colliding with one another in their frenzied evasive maneuvers. The missiles swarm in and blossom the dark sky with short-lived red and orange fireballs. As the conflagration clears, Jeremy strains at his RADAR screen, counting the remaining targets. "Judge, I read two one, scratch that, two six active tangos left. Looks like eighteen 'pods and a brace of the fighters."

"Copy and confirmed. Looks like that group decided to bug out, the pint defense system should handle them. Make ready for new priority targets."

"Aff that lead. Waiting for... oh, grebanyy suka. Lead, incoming from our right flank!" Jeremy barks as he somersaults his mecha backwards clearing the line of attack of a group of six 'darts'. Judge pivots and using his thrusters to quickly hop to one side before loosing a volley from his particle cannons, nailing one of the fighters while Daniels pulses his LASER to tag a second one in the engine. The now asymmetric thrust throwing the alien craft into the armored deck of the SDF-1.

Jason grunts before noting wryly, "OK half-pint, now the fun starts. Head on a swivel and engage targets as they come to bear. Watch my back, and I'll watch yours How copy?"

"Solid copy Judge, time to Foxtrot with Charlie."

Levering his mecha upright, Daniels takes a bead on a trio of battlepods that had landed and were now running along the hull, aiming to punch a hold in the defense network. As the gunpod swings in line, a Jeremy squeezes off a short burst and watches in slow motion as the rounds slam into the lead mecha, shredding the pilot and reactor, his marksmanship being rewarded with a burst of flame and shrapnel. The remaining two pods break and dodge as Daniels continues to send fire in their direction. Before they can escape, 55mm rounds strike the pair of mecha, touching off their autocannon magazines. The alien machines shredding into little more than metal confetti.

Taking a moment to look over the larger tactical picture, Daniels grimaces. The SDF-1 and her defenders are embroiled in a miles wide furball. The CAP and defensive lines had fallen back within the umbrella of the defense net of the SDF-1 from the sheer weight of hostile forces. Far from giving up, the Veritechs were fighting with an almost reckless abandon, and Jeremy appreciated the fervor that the SPACY aviators were unleashing. Not that he'd ever admit that to their faces. Similarly, the point defenses were unleashing havoc on any alien that made the poor choice to range into their firing arc. The pepperbox style launchers bounce up and down as if they were a twisted style of jack-in-the-box.

"Judge, got another dozen pod at least moving in, might have a group of darts inbound too."

"I see them Half-pint, I'll take the ones off the bow, you focus on the ones aft."

Dropping his Spartan into a combat position, Jeremy levels his gunpod and looses one burst after another into the swirling maelstrom.

* * *

As the battle wears on, the beleaguered forces of the SDF-1 struggle to stem the onslaught of the alien forces. In the midst of this, Lundsford and Daniels find themselves in close quarters with the alien mecha.

Jason dances his Tomahawk around the battlepods that had closed in on him, his energy cannons glowing cherry red at their muzzles from the sustained fusillade he continued to deliver. Sweeping in behind one of the mecha, he pulses his right arm cannon into it's rear armor even while leveling his left cannon on a second battlepod moving in on one of the SDF-1s CIWS LASER blisters.

Jeremy was having a rougher time, his movements coming off less fluidly. Lacking a heavy hitting energy weapon, the Marine was reduced to using his empty gunpod as a staff to buy time for his light LASERs to cool. Ducking inside of the firing arcs of the nearest pod, Daniels grabbed one of the lower autocannon mounts on the 'pod and wrenches the barrel sharply before slipping away. When the alien pilot tried to fire at him using the ruined weapon, the explosive round cooked off the remaining magazine, ripping the mecha apart.

"Oh-two, lead, status."

"Lead, oh-two, I'm reading mostly green on my armor, the right shoulder and left thigh are both in the yellow. Internals are green across the board. I am winchester on my GAU-11, my 32mm cannon, and fifty cal. I got 4 mortar shells left. LASER turret is still green, LASER cannon is intermittent. I think I may have busted a heat sink, my waste heat is dissipating slower than it should. Over."

"Lead copies. Break. Gunsight, Misfit is reporting winchester on munitions. Requesting relief status. Over."

Lt Leeds pops onto the MFD and answers "Misfit lead, Gunsight oh four. You are negative on relief. Continue to hold as best you can. Will vector a Victor Tango squad to assist soonest. Over."

"Wilco Gunsight. If possible, please send a spare gunpod with the Victor Tangos for oh-two. Break. Half-pint, we're still on the clock. You holding up? Over."

"Best as I can Judge. I gotta hand it to you, organizing a full on battle just to break me in for Zee Gee is a stroke of genius. Great way to really cut out the men from the cadavers."

"Half-pint, do you ever run out of bad jokes?"

"Judge, I'll let you know if that ever happens."

A flash of metal off to his left catches Jeremy's eye, and he turns to find a Gnerl screaming in just above deck level. Daniels grimaces while he braces his Spartan and chokes up on the gunpod like a baseball bat. He holds his position, ignoring the particle cannon blasts burrowing into his armor. He was never much of a baseball player, but it seemed a shame to pass up a pitch this good. Though trying to nail a pitch as some xenocidal aliens were shooting at him made the small voice in the back of his head scream in self-preservation.

The Gnerl guns its engines and darts in for the kill. With intense concentration Jeremy times his sidestep to pull his machine from the Gnerls line of approach as he swings the gunpod desperately. The mechanical muscles of a Spartan swing hard, and that force is only compounded by the Gnerls acceleration. The gunpod connects with the craft with the force of a semi truck, striking just above the cockpit, and crushing the machinery of the dorsal engine. The stricken fighter back flips into the black of space as Jeremy finds his gunpod torn from his mechas hands, along with most of the armor on the Spartans palms.

"Half-pint! Did you just lose your gunpod?"

"Negative lead, it was taken from me."

Jason sighs and mutters under his breath, "Damn crayon munchers."

Jeremy chuckles to himself as Gunsight calls over the Comms, "Attention all forces, prepare for transformation sequence. Repeat, all forces, prepare for transformation sequence."

"Lead, oh-two. What are they talking about?"

"Not a clue Half-pint. Let's just hold tight."

Jeremy turns his attention to the RADAR and spies a group of seven battlepods closing in from all directions, "Lead, looks like the sharks are circling."

"I see them Oh-Two. You're out of effective weapons, get clear."

"Negative lead. I got your back. I doubt they'll let me through anyway."

Jason pivots his machine and pulses its particle cannon at two of the pod, boring through the first, and scoring a glancing strike against the second. The survivor and his two compatriots rush in, autocannons and particle beams stabbing viciously towards the human war machine.

Meanwhile Jeremy pulses his LASER turret and cannon at the trio of 'pods closing in on him. Using his thrusters sparingly he hurls his mecha around to spoil the aim of the alien forces. The closest pod staggers under the energy pulses but continues moving in while unleashing a withering barrage. Daniels throws his Spartan from side to side answering the incoming fire with his own ruby spears while the other two pods add their own weight of fire to overwhelm the Marine. Daniels ducks a fraction too slowly, the turret atop his mecha is slagged and blasted off in a vibrant splash of sparks and molten metal.

"Oh hell. Lead, I just lost my turret."

Jeremy scowls as the other two pods around him turn and move on the Tomahawk. Turning his back to the pod still attacking him, he zeros in on the hip of one of the other pods and fires his cannon. Only for the LASER to sputter as the fault board lights up with another red glow.

As the Spartan is roughly buffeted by the cannon and particle fire at its back, Jeremy snarls and launches himself at the alien machine hell-bent on giving the Marine a real estate deal. Alarms wail as the focused autocannon and particle beam savage the already weakened armor. The hostile fire burrows into the missile bays and gun cluster, the fun-sized defender of the SDF-1 is spared death by virtue of his empty magazines.

The Spartans engine cluster lights up to rocket the human machine rudely into its foe. A harsh screech of rending metal pierces both machines as Jeremys right missile cover is torn asunder. The alien pilot is stunned by the combination of impact and sound causing the battlepod to stagger. Heedless of the damage to his one machine, Daniels plants his feet and curls the hand of his mecha into a fist, the actuators and hydraulics in the legs and arm of the titanic machine unleash their full power to drive the fist into and through the weakened armor of the 'pod. Jeremy having to suppress the urge to shout 'Shoryuken!' The body of the mecha crushes onto the pilot much like the egg it resembles, while also turning the hand of the Spartan into a gnarled lump.

Meanwhile, Jason was continuing his own desperate struggle. Having closed in with the initial group of pods attacking him, he used the alien machines to offer cover from the other enemies closing in from all sides. Baiting one 'pod into ram him, Jason deftly sidesteps and hooks the leg of the enemy machine as he pulses a shot from his other arm into a mecha that was trying to maneuver to a clear firing line. A quick pirouette brings a second enemy target into his crosshairs. The charged particle burst from his cannon lashes out with blue lightning, neatly coring the alien before it's reactor detonates from the breached containment field. Lundsford hops up before pulsing his dorsal thrusters to stomp on the mecha he'd tripped, bursting the body like an overripe watermelon.

Using his free hand, Jeremy grabs the dead pod and rips to free his mangled hand, snatching off a sizable portion of armor plating. Without hesitation, he pivoted and hurled the improvised discus at the nearer of the remaining pods. The impact dazes the alien pilot as the chunk of metal caroms off his machine.

Jason takes the opportunity to fire both of his rifles at the other battlepod, the twin lances of artificial lightning pulverizing their target, sending the remains slowly tumbling off into the black of space.

Lundsford watches as his trainee sprints forward stopping just short of the final alien target. The Spartan leans over bracing on one leg, the other reeled back. With a spray of sparks coming off the overstressed actuators, the titanic foot heaves into the hip of the battlepod. The furious strike spoils the balance of the already dazed pilot, sending the egg-shaped foe crashing to the hull with a dull thud reverberating through ship beneath their feet.

Not wasting time, Daniels' Spartan leaps onto the fallen machine, pinning it with a knee. Grasping the leg by the ruined hip, it is torn free with a sharp jerk. Bellowing a war cry, Jeremy sets upon his foe beating the cockpit until it was little more than a mangled pile of scrap. The red blood from the pilot adorning the hull of the SDF-1, and the armor plating of the Spartan.

Jason calls out, "Two! Two! Stand down! It's dead."

Snapping to his senses, Daniels lurches to a stop mid-swing. "Two copies lead."

Before either can say anything more, the ship under their feet shudders and begins to move. As Claudia calls over the TacNet, "Transformation sequence is underway."

Both men are flabbergasted as the SDF-1 twists and shifts, as the boom they were standing on rotates, Jeremy finds himself fighting another wave of nausea as his eyes and ears again disagreed over which organ he should listen to.

After several long seconds of the SDF-1 contorting, Daniels is able to see the end result of the transition of the vessel. "Lead, Oh Two. Am I hallucinating, or did our space ship just turn into a giant freaking robot?"

"I'm not completely sure, but I think that it did indeed turn into a giant freaking robot."

"Why."

"Damned if I know."

Further snarky remarks are curtailed as the SDF-1 unleashes its reflex cannon. The hellish energy coalesces along the twin booms that once comprised the SDF-1's bow and erupts forth. The beam seared its way through the void of space to annihilate the oncoming attacking wave of enemy mecha. The beam washed over the ship leading the attack, armor peeling away like layers of an onion. Jeremy squeals in glee as he watches the unbridled destruction wrought from the fury of the protoculture fueled weapon.

"Lead."

"Yeah half-pint?"

"Our ship is the biggest, stompiest robot. And I want whatever gun it is that we just fired."

"... Goddammit Marine."

* * *

Misfit team patiently waited for their turn to pass through the assigned airlock to reenter the battlefortress, the other destroids around them varying wildly in battle damage. Thankfully only a relative handful of groups were missing units.

Jason grills his student, "Half-pint, what the devil happened to no theatrics?"

Jeremy deadpanned back, "Judge, what theatrics? That was survival and desperation."

"Don't you play games with me you runt,you ripped a piece of armor off and chucked it like a frisbee."

"Uh, instinct?"

"Instinct. Right... And you playing pinata with that other 'pod?"

"Again, survival and desperation. I really didn't want to make him mostly dead. Also, are the LASER cannons always so flaky?"

Lundsford sighs and shakes his head in exasperation as the airlock cycles open once again.

The duo stagger their damaged mecha inside the airlock, Jeremy again experiencing vertigo as gravity reasserts its hold on him. As the inner door cycles open both men gape at the destruction caused by the transformation of the SDF-1. Toppled buildings strewn about as if discarded by a careless child. Interspersed by piles of rubble and chunks of asphalt. A mangled car peeked out from under a concrete boulder, buses flipped on their roof or sides, a moped hanging from a light pole. The only comfort was that they couldn't see any bodies among the wreckage.

"Holy mother... Jason, where was your family at?"

The large man replied in a far too small voice, "Hopefully in one of the shelters near the base. Otherwise, in our house on base, I hope. Let's get back to the barn."

While Jason contacts BTC, Jeremy looks around at the rubble and carnage that now makes up the interior of their ship. The PA system announces the victory and asserts that there were only minimal civilian casualties, Jeremy can only murmur quietly, "Ain't no frickin way..."

The pair continue on in silence, both men taking in the carnage all around. Daniels keeps an eye on the comm panel still showing Jasons face. The big soldier was also scanning the rubble, each passing second adding a further furrow to his brow and tenseness to his shoulders. Jeremy finally breaks the somber mood, "Jason, isn't your wife part of Civil Defense?"

"Yeah. She is. What of it?"

Daniels forces himself to use a normal tone of voice. "Contact CivDef, see if you can get her CO, or someone that can get a hold of her."

"Lieutenant, that is against regs, and a complete breach of protocol."

"Gorram it Jason, look around. Hell, I can bloody well feel your worry from over here. Anyone with half a heart wouldn't hold it against you for trying to make sure your family is OK. Look if you don't call 'em, I will."

Lundsford began to protest before he closed his mouth, "BTC, Misfit lead. Be advised I am handing off our return walk to Misfit oh two. How copy?"

"BTC copies Misfit lead. Break. Misfit oh two, BTC, do you read? Over."

"Oh two reads BTC."

"Sending updated route, ETA to hangar four one three is three zero mikes."

Jeremy allowed a small smile as he took over on BTC for the walk back in one ear, and listened in on Jason with CivDefNet on the other. His smile was short-lived however.

"Sorry Sergeant, we don't have any record of your family making it to a shelter. And Lynn hasn't reported in, along with over half of CivDef. Comm lines are a mess, and we're scattered all over the ship. But we've only had a handful of casualties, and one fatality confirmed so far. We'll, uh, we'll let you know as soon as we know anything."

Jeremy inhaled sharply as Lundsford coiled like a over wound watch spring. Making sure to cut out the audio to Jason, Jeremy quietly keys the radio, "BTC, this is Misfit oh two. Requesting permission to expedite to hangar four one three. Over."

"Uh Misfit oh two, that is a negative. Remain on your assigned route. Over."

"BTC, we _need_ to expedite. How copy? Over."

The traffic controller grumbles, "Oh two, that is a **negative**. We are coordinating emergency vehicles, DamCon, resupply, Destroids, and SAR. On top of having to deal with the new layout. It is a blasted mess. You will remain on your assigned route. Understood? Over."

Jeremy growls before he responds, "BTC, be advised. Misfit lead just had confirmed that his family was not, I say again, _was not_ in any of the designated shelters. How copy? Over."

"Wait one Misfit." A pregnant pause fills the air, "Oh two, BTC, transmitting new route. ETA five mikes. And if we hear anything on Lundsfords family from emergency services we'll pass it along. How copy? Over."

"Solid copy BTC. Thanks."

Jeremy slowly exhales as he transfers back to Misfits local channel, "New walking orders lead. We'll be back in five."

"What? Last I heard off BTC was a half-hour."

"Had to update, they're trying to herd cats with a firehose. Getting two mecha off the road should make it easier on them, especially with one being a hair away from falling apart."

Jason shot Daniels a sharp look, the Sergeants face drawn tight and brow heavily furrowed. "I'll take what good fortune we can get."

"I'm sure we'll hear something before long Jase. Let's get to our berths. Randall is gonna have a field day with me, I'm sure. Gonna have to use a buttload of bondo on my girl here."

Lundsford breaks into a laugh, the tense lines of his shoulders and brow easing as a brief wave of mirth washes over the man. "I don't think we have enough on board half-pint."

* * *

After guiding their machines into their berths, Jeremy and Jason climb down the gantries. The strain of being in the mecha for nearly 10 straight hours atop of the combat fatigue hits them full force as they move with pained stiffness. Doffing his helmet, Jeremy hangs it on a convenient hook and unzips his jumpsuit so he can begin cooling off.

The mecha look little better than their pilots. Jeremys Spartan was savaged from head to toe. Armor plates across the machine were gouged and torn, when they weren't outright missing. Lundsfords Tomahawk was in better shape, even so the damaged armor plates would still be stripped off and sent for recycling.

Randall stares slack-jawed before he says, "LT, what did you do?"

"I got into a little bit of a scuffle out there Petty Officer. Nothing to write home about."

"Uh huh, and did you try to catch every shot warhead thrown your way?"

"Yeah, isn't that worth bonus points?"

Randall glares at Jeremy, saying, "You get a pass this time. But this better not become a regular thing."

Jeremy looks over his Spartan, "P.O. if this becomes a regular thing, I'll be looking for a different line of work, or be worm food."

The enlisted man groans as he heads to the hangar phone to call for the laundry list of parts to repair the battered Spartan.

Making his way over to the Judge, Jeremy waits for Lundsford to finish descending from his machine of war.

"Any news Sergeant?"

Jason shakes his head, saying, "Still nothing."

"You need to debrief me at all, instructor?"

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

Jeremy nods, "Good, good. Now, you need to go check up on your family. I'm sure the Petty Officer and I can take care of anything that has to be done now. You have a more important matter to look into."

Jason looks at the smaller man, shaking his head he asks, "You are going to keep harping on this, aren't you?"

"Yup. I am one hard-headed buffoon. And I know how to be most annoying. Now, get moving."

Jason gives Daniels a good natured thump with the back of his hand.

Randall walks up as Lundsford breaks into an easy jog, "I was wondering how long it'd take you to get him outta here LT."

"What do you mean Randall?"

"I heard your report to BTC, if I didn't know my wife was safe I'd be losing my mind until I found out."

Jeremy chuckles, "Then we'd better make good on my promise to take care of everything. Now, has the LASER cannon always given people fits? Or do we need to run down that problem... Er, that is once you've finished on the Spartan sized jigsaw I provided you with."

* * *

Jason stops short of the door of his house, letting out a sigh of relief on seeing his house intact. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, pausing tentatively. Opening the door, Jason steps inside and is greeted by silence. Toys lay strewn across the living room, and a pot sits on the stove alongside a half sliced tomato and a package of ground beef.

Raising his voice, Lundsford calls out, "Lynn? Mark? Jessica?" cringing as his voice echos back at him through the halls. He moves through the house, repeating his call becoming more insistent with each moment while checking each room in turn.

Having cleared the house, Jason moves into the back yard, now shouting "Mark! Jessica! Lynn!" as he scans the backyard, the toys and play set that had been sitting were now jumbled into a pile in the corner of the fence. As Jason was about to rush back into the house to search down the street, he stops as he gets a reply.

Lynn rounds the corner of their house with the children in tow, "Jason! Oh, thank God you're safe."

Jason rushes over to his wife, the tension melting away as he takes his family into his arms. "I was so worried. Everything was wrecked, CivDef said you hadn't reported in, none of the shelters had y'all as being inside..."

"We had to take shelter in the ordinance bunker. The shelters were too far away to reach once the battle started. And the comm lines are all cut from the transformation. I was worried when I heard that you were being sent out _with_ your trainee."

"It was bad out there. But, we took light losses all things considered. Let's get inside, I think we all need to unwind."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Authors Note: The character of Jason Lundsford again belongs to Dreadnought and is being used in his honor, with permission.**
> 
> **As people have mentioned interest in having or making a character that could cameo, all who wish to do so may pm me here on to discuss matters (with the realization that by submitting said character(s) you are giving de facto permission for me to utilize them as I see fit). No promises though.**


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